


Akatosh's Lost Son

by ms_katonic



Series: Jorrvaskr's Dark Brother [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Amnesia, Amnesiac Miraak, Asexuality Spectrum, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexual Miraak, College of Winterhold Questline, Consent, Cross-Generation Relationship, I'm So Sorry Joseph Russell, Loss of Virginity, Lucien Flavius Does Not Deserve This, Lucien Flavius is In Denial, M/M, Male Slash, Miraak Lives (Elder Scrolls), Miraak is Not A Good Person But Is Trying Dammit, Modded Skyrim, Nordic Dragonborns and the Imperials That Love Them, Probably Ace-spec Lucien, Redemption, Slash, Slow Burn, Solstheim (Elder Scrolls), We Do Not Deserve Lucien Flavius
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 68,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28388877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_katonic/pseuds/ms_katonic
Summary: The Last Dragonborn killed the First and took his soul and has felt nothing but grief over it ever since, much to the annoyance of her partner who's rarely grieved a kill in his life.  But an impending crisis at the College of Winterhold requires a hero's attention, and when the hero's not a mage, the crisis could become disaster before she's even aware, prompting the Divines to take drastic action.  If the Last Dragonborn won't help, maybe the magically gifted First will.  But no second chance ever came for free...
Relationships: Cicero/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Lucien Flavius/Miraak
Series: Jorrvaskr's Dark Brother [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079147
Comments: 40
Kudos: 30





	1. Rebirth

**Author's Note:**

> May the gods have mercy on my soul, I started shipping Miraak and of all people, Lucien Flavius, modded follower. If you don't know who he is, you can download the mod at <https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/20035>. That link is to the SE version, but you can find an LE link on that page. To sum up, Lucien's a young, inexperienced scholar from Cyrodiil who wanted an adventure, and Miraak's, well, the sort of evil First Dragonborn with his own cult. About the only way of overcoming the power differential was for Miraak to lose some of it, so here is Miraak, resurrected, back from the dead, but no idea who he is, although he still instinctively knows how to use all his skills and can speak Dovahzul.
> 
> The fic is a sequel to one of my early ones, Well Met By Moonlight, as the Dragonborn in that hadn't done that many quests. In particular, she's not a mage, meaning the Winterhold questline still remains, as does the Civil War. Meaning Miraak has things to get his teeth into. 
> 
> So here we are, Miraak adventuring on Solstheim and Skyrim with no idea who he is yet, Lucien Flavius at his side learning alongside him and gaining the protector he badly needs. The romance is likely to be a slow burn due to Lucien's inexperience and Miraak being relatively unsure of himself this time around plus also recognising that his prospective partner might require a bit more time.

A pall over Jorrvaskr, and while their Harbinger’s return from Solstheim after slaying her rival Dovahkiin should have been cause for songs of triumph, no one felt like celebrating. Not when the Harbinger had retreated to her room, hidden herself away and spoke to no one. No one except her mate, Cicero the Last Dark Brother.

A week of tending to his grieving Harbinger and even Cicero’s patience was tested.

“Melinda,” Cicero said softly, perched on the bed next to her. “Melinda, this will not do. He was a bad man, and now he is dead. He does not deserve your grief.”

“You’re a bad man,” Melinda Storm-Heart whispered to her pillow. “How many people have you, your former Order, killed? If anything happened to you, it would destroy me!”

“He tried to kill you, my sweetling,” Cicero sighed, stroking her lovely blonde hair. “Cicero has tended to you, loved you, protected you. As you have for him. Miraak on the other hand enslaved an entire island, including me for a time, sent his cultists after you, sent dragons after you, and when you finally confronted him, insisted he had to kill you in order to escape. And Cicero saw little sign of remorse for any of it. He does not deserve your pity, beloved. He would have had none for you.”

Melinda knew it. And yet he was Dragonborn too. Had been. The only other person who knew, knew what it was to wield the Thu’um, knew what it was take a dragon’s soul, knew what it was to fight daily against his dominating draconic nature.

Well. That last point was arguable. Miraak had shown very little sign of struggling with that part of himself, all indications were that he’d thoroughly embraced it. But the point was, he was still Dragonborn. He was still her brother in the dragon blood, however badly things had gone for him. And so Melinda mourned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_She will not do it?_

_No! She is no mage and has stated repeatedly she’s not returning to the College. And no, one of the others there will not do. They don’t have the skill for this._

_The Saarthal dig is scheduled, Julianos. They will find the Eye. It will be misused. All of this is fated! It will destroy the world unless the Dragonborn comes to fight it! Do not tell me she has any love for the Thalmor._

_She does not, Magnus. But she has no love nor skill for magic either and will not return. I am sorry._

_Sorry-! Fine. I will ask Dibella to persuade her._

_Do not bother, brother. I have tried. She will not be persuaded to do the job herself. But if you need a Dragonborn who might care for magic… I have another idea. She has not used the soul yet. And she feels grief and regret over taking it. She could be persuaded to part with it. And I think Akatosh might be persuaded to make use of it._

_Him?? Dibella, this is the worst idea…_

_He is a Dragonborn and a mage. Do you think half of Skyrim and beyond being wiped out is better? Would you see the Eye of Magnus in Thalmor hands?_

_NO! But… is Miraak any better?_

_I did not say his second chance would come with no conditions. When I say we wipe the slate clean… we wipe it. He remembers nothing of who he was._

_Akatosh might agree to those terms. Let us speak to him. The Father of Dragons must still feel something for his lost son._

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_**ZIIL. TIID. VO!!!!** _

Melinda opened her eyes, and felt herself a soul down. Next to her, Cicero sleeping peacefully. No outward sign anything was wrong. But…

She’d lost a dragon soul. She wasn’t sure which one. She’d not used any. She’d been afraid to. Afraid to finally erase the First Dragonborn.

Except she had a strange feeling that wasn’t a problem any more. She had the oddest sensation that she didn’t have his soul any more.

Melinda lay down, not at all sure what this meant. Only that perhaps her grief wasn’t quite so needed after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**_SLEN. TIID. VO!!!!_**

Explosion of earth as the unmarked grave near the Temple of Miraak vomited its contents to the world, magic swirling into the bones left there with more care and ceremony than perhaps they’d deserved.

And then bones became flesh became a body became a living man. Who opened his eyes, felt freezing cold weather and promptly screamed.

It was cold. So cold! So very very cold and he was naked and… fire. He knew surely as anything that he needed fire or he’d die in short order. Instinctively drawing on Aetherial energy and a flame cloak sprang into being. It might help until he found shelter. Drawing himself out of the pit he’d been left in, he staggered out, collapsing in the snow, still shivering then slowly dragging himself to his feet.

Night time. Aurora blazing overhead. And that… that had to be the Temple. The Dragon Priest’s temple. Should he go there?

Something told him that was a bad idea. That he’d find no help there. That the Dragon Priest wasn’t there any more. What about the village then. Thirsk wasn’t far away, was it?

How he knew there was a village nearby called Thirsk when he remembered little else was anyone’s guess but it brought a strong feeling of home, so off he set. He got as far as the Beast Stone when he saw it. Two grey-skinned elves attacking a young man in what were rather nice looking clothes, if completely unsuited to Solstheim.

It was still better than he had.

“Can’t we… can’t we talk about this?” the young man cried. “Oh god. Look, I already gave you all my coin to take me to Dumzbthar. All I’ve got left is my sword!”

“And your clothes, pretty boy. And a few other things we’ve got in mind to have,” the lead elf laughed, dressed in a set of heavy armour that looked more Nordic than elven. His friend was in furs but they both looked more skilled in battle than the young man – a boy really – clutching a basic iron sword that would barely dent that armour.

Where was the honour in this?? Nowhere. 

His magic lashed out, powerful shock magic that within seconds had the leader writhing on the floor, howling in agony, and then his friend gasped, looked up then cast mage armour and ran at him, steel blade at the ready.

Hah, really? Naked and confused as he was, he was far from defenceless and something in him knew how to deal with the situation.

“FAAS RU MAAR!”

The elf screamed as the power hit him, crying out for mercy, which he was not inclined to give. He kept advancing, casting mage armour, ready to rip the elf apart with his bare hands if he had to, and the elf sobbed and fled. Leaving just the one lying prone on the ground. The one who’d swindled an innocent young man out of his coin and threatened to take everything else too. Including his pleasure with the poor man, if he’d understood the veiled threat properly.

He felt no guilt whatsoever in picking up the elf’s discarded fine black war axe and hacking his head off.

“Oh gods,” the young man was whispering. “Oh gods, oh gods, Mara, Kynareth, Dibella, anyone, please help me.”

He would. But the flame cloak sputtered out and he felt the cold come rushing back, and there was one enemy left to deal with before checking on the poor man. Namely, Solstheim’s ever present cold.

That armour was nice. The armour was padded. He had a feeling he was trained to wear heavy armour. He was having that. It was probably stolen anyway.

Telekinesis to summon anything flammable, flames to get a fire going, and then he was stripping the dead elf, and getting into his armour. It fit better than expected, confirming the thought it had been crafted for a much bigger man than the elf had been.

The axe was nice too, was something he felt he knew how to wield, so with him it came. There was also a coin purse containing nigh on five hundred gold coins.

“This is yours, I think,” he said, holding it out to the shivering young man. “Are you all right?”

The young man looked up, terrified blue eyes staring into his. Chin-length blonde hair, facial hair trimmed closed to his face, a bit over twenty years old and clearly well out of his depth.

“No,” the young man whispered. “Mara, who… who are you? Where did you come from??”

“I…” Now that he had space to think, he realised he had no idea. He didn’t remember anything before waking up in that pit and realising he was at risk of freezing to death. “I don’t know. I was lying in a pit over there by that temple. I don’t remember what happened before that or how I got there. I don’t even know who I am or where I came from.”

He looked about him, and everything about this island felt familiar. As if he was from here somehow.

“I think I’m from Solstheim,” he said. “But I don’t remember where.”

Something flickered in the young man’s eyes, surprise, sympathy… the faintest hint of a smile.

“A mystery! How exciting! I love a good mystery.”

He got to his feet and sheepishly took his coin purse back.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to help. I think you might have saved me. Mara, I should have listened to my mother and stayed in Cyrodiil. My name is Lucien Flavius, scholar, mage, philosopher, scientist and amateur musician. Only I suppose that last one is more of a hobby. It’s a pleasure to meet you! No really, it’s a pleasure. I have no idea how to repay you. Do you want some of this coin?”

“No,” he said, staring down at this young man who just about came up to his shoulder and was slightly built and definitely not going to make it in any kind of fight, and probably not going to make it full stop if he was left roaming Solstheim on his own. “Keep your coin, goraaniik. I couldn’t just let them hurt you. Listen, Solstheim is not the safest place. Where were you staying? I can take you back there.”

The pathetic gratitude on Lucien’s face told its own story.

“Thanks. I was staying in Raven Rock, it’s about the only real town on the island. I was trying to hire some mercenaries to watch my back but… I think they might actually have been reavers.”

Lucien shivered at the thought and he couldn’t help but feel for him. Something about Lucien just made him want to protect and take care of him and…

Ah. He found men attractive then. Or just this one? It didn’t matter. Lucien was adorable. And… if he went back to Raven Rock on his own, might fall into bad company again, and next time he might not be there to save him.

“If you feel indebted to me, I can think of one means of repayment,” he purred, and then wished he hadn’t because Lucien suddenly looked very nervous. Ah. That could be open to misinterpretation. And adore and desire him as he did, he somehow knew he didn’t want sex in payment for anything.

“Not like that, goraaniik,” he laughed. “You are in clear need of protection. I… don’t know who or what I am. Only that I am a mage of some considerable power who woke up alone and naked in the middle of nowhere. But as for family, friends… no, I remember nothing. That puts me at a loose end, does it not? Lucien Flavius. Do you require a bodyguard? Allow me to accompany you. Only I fear if I leave you alone, you will end up in trouble again.”

“Well, you’re probably not wrong but… wait, how is this me repaying you??” Lucien demanded. “What are you getting out of this? I get a scary Nord bodyguard and you get the privilege of babysitting a complete milk-drinker?”

That stung. That stung because Lucien was adorable and pretty and he couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt, and it didn’t matter if he needed protection. He’d provide that. Someone somewhere had told him that the first duty of a man to his loved ones was to protect and provide. Lucien could have his protection for free if he wanted.

That and he knew no one. He didn’t know who he was, if he had family or friends out there… or enemies. And someone must have left him in that pit. He didn’t like to think who. But it wasn’t Lucien, and one thing he did know. This man in front of him was friendly and trustworthy and had no hidden agendas other than not dying, and was clearly not a manipulative arsehole or he wouldn’t have had his so-called protectors turning on him like they had.

Lucien Flavius could be a friend if not more, and he wanted that in his life very very badly indeed.

“Don’t…!” he cried. “Lucien, I don’t know who I am! I have nowhere else to go! You are the first and so far only friendly face I have encountered. Someone left me for dead in that hole. I have no idea who but to get the better of me… they are either very powerful or completely lacking in honour. I have an enemy and I don’t know who to trust. But something tells me I can trust you. So how about it. We watch each other’s backs. We try and find out who I am. And I can help you with whatever you came to Solstheim for.”

Lucien had been staring at him throughout this, nothing but sympathy in his eyes.

“Gods, you poor man,” Lucien said softly. “Yes of course I’ll help you. You saved my life, it’s the least I can do. Do you even know what your name is?”

He really should know this. But he didn’t. Knowledge of even that robbed from him.

“No,” he said, staring at the snow and feeling forlorn and bereft, the reality that he was alone in the world hitting home and a whole abyss of loneliness opening up inside.

He didn’t know who he was or where he came from. Did he have family? Parents? Siblings? A spouse? Children??

Gods, what if there were children waiting for their papa to come home. Didn’t bear thinking about.

Hands over his face and he fought back tears, because he had no one. No one. And he knew enough to know that was something no one should have to deal with.

Except a gloved hand had touched his wrist and then Lucien’s fingers were lowering his hand and taking it in his.

He couldn’t stop the moan at actual human contact. As if it had been a very long time indeed since anyone had shown him any affection. 

He couldn’t stop himself. Reaching out, he drew Lucien into his arms and held him tight, shaking all over and only just resisting the urge to kiss him. The gods knew Lucien probably wouldn’t appreciate _that._

He wasn’t resisting the hug though. He’d gasped in surprise but wasn’t objecting. Good because he didn’t want to let Lucien go.

“Krosis,” he whispered, finally releasing the younger man. And then because that had clearly meant very little judging by the confusion on Lucien’s face, he switched back into the other language he seemed to know. “I’m sorry. I think I am a stranger to affection and concern. I… may not have been a good person.”

“You don’t know that,” Lucien said quietly. “But I do agree that if you were knocked on the head and left for dead in a shallow grave, you might not have mixed in the nicest circles. But then again, look at me! I might have been next if you hadn’t saved me! And I’m about as far from hardened criminal as it’s possible to get! So, I agree it’s best to mentally prepare for you not having been the nicest person. But you don’t know that for sure. And for what it’s worth, you saved me. So whatever happens, I will always be grateful for that. Now, I don’t know if you noticed, but it’s _really_ cold out here. Could we… could we make for Raven Rock? I really want to be somewhere warm. With a nice hot meal and a nice fire – not that the one you built isn’t nice, but it’s nothing like being back at the inn. Or cornerclub. Or… oh Mara, I don’t care what they call it, I just want to be _warm!_ ”

“Then let’s get you warm,” he murmured, kicking snow over the fire then putting an arm round Lucien. “Where is this Raven Rock place? It doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Southwest,” Lucien whispered gratefully. “I’m not sure what direction that is, mind.”

He knew instinctively what direction that was and led the way.

“So… if you don’t know your own name, what do I call you?” Lucien ask, huddling against him for presumably warmth, although he’d have no objection whatsoever to other motives. “I can’t keep calling you my heroic saviour, can I?”

Oh he could. Lucien really really could. He would take any adulation and flattery coming his way and then some. Especially from Lucien Flavius.

He didn’t know his own name. But he did know what he liked being called and could stand to hear Lucien calling him again.

“Call me Saviik,” he decided. “It means Saviour. It will do until I find my real name.”

“Saviik,” Lucien repeated, seeming to approve, even if he did look a little embarrassed. “Well, you were certainly that! If I may ask… I don’t recognise that language at all. I mean, you seem to know Tamrielic, but what’s that other language you slip into? What do the words mean? Goraaniik, krosis. And how do you remember those?”

Saviik truly had no idea. But there it was, a whole other language in his mind, one he was fluent in, more so than the language Lucien had called Tamrielic. And he knew nothing about it or how he’d learnt it.

“Goraaniik means a young person. I think it’s a term of endearment. Krosis means sorrow. It is how we apologise.”

“So who’s we?” Lucien asked and Saviik cursed once more at not knowing.

“I don’t know,” Saviik sighed. “I wish I did. I think it’s important somehow.”

“It’s definitely a clue,” Lucien agreed. “Well, we’ll see if we can find out more about it. We find out what language it is and who speaks it, we might be able to find out where you came from!”

They might! Saviik squeezed Lucien, suddenly really glad to have found his new friend. It was the merest chance they’d met… but Saviik wondered if it was fate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Back in Raven Rock, and it had been back to Lucien’s room at the Retching Netch… with only one narrow single bed.

“Oh gods, I didn’t think about sleeping arrangements,” Lucien whispered, mortified. “I’ll ask if there’s another room? Or… wait, I have a tent and bedroll. One of us can have the bedroll?”

Saviik wasn’t even tired yet. Just in pain somehow. His stomach ached despite him having taken no wound there.

“Why does my stomach feel like it has a hole in it?” Saviik growled.

“I’m not sure, when did you last eat – you don’t remember, do you. Gods, you’re probably starving!” Lucien gasped. “Oh gods, look, here’s some money. Get yourself some food and drink off the innkeeper. Also there’s a trapdoor over there leading to the bath chamber, have a bath. We probably both need it. I think I need sleep more though.”

Saviik let him go off to take care of that while he availed himself of the bathing facilities, stripping off and scrubbing his skin down and massaging shampoo and hot water into his long blonde hair, and generally enjoying himself very much. Yes. This was nice. It wasn’t exactly luxury but it was certainly nice, and Saviik began to realise he might have come from money maybe? It certainly felt right availing himself of every luxury going.

Saviik wondered if he actually was a good person. Here he was, enjoying a hot bath and feeling as if it was his right. Well, he was a customer, he was allowed. But that sense of entitlement bothered him. As if he was lord of this place somehow? 

Very, very odd. But it was a warm bath and he got the feeling he liked bathing. Good. That was good. Hygiene was important. Yes.

Out of the bath, wipe down the mirror and Saviik got the first look at his face.

Not young. Older than Lucien, definitely. But by no means an old man either. Long blonde hair. Blue eyes. Clean-shaven. Pale skin. And cheekbones… Saviik traced a finger along his cheekbones and admired himself. That was an attractive man. That definitely was. That was a face that could charm people to bed with little difficulty and probably had done. That pleased Saviik greatly.

It occurred to Saviik he was a very vain man apparently. And that flattery, attention and being doted on and fussed over were things he was very fond of.

He probably wasn’t a good person, was he. Damn it.

But as Lucien had told him, he didn’t know that for sure. Heroes could be vain, right? If he had done great things, only natural for people to adore him, hmm? He’d just have to rein it in, that was all. And find out if he’d actually done great things, of course. If not… perhaps he’d have to do some.

He dried himself off, put the armour back on, realised he’d really need to get some more clothes, and returned to the main room, ordering horker and ash yam stew off the innkeeper, and some Dunmer drink called a sujamma.

Saviik devoured the stew, promptly ordered another, and then noticed the desserts menu and ordered both a jazbay crostata and sweet roll and cleared both of those in short order as well.

Apparently he’d been really hungry, and the sujamma was rather nice as well. And then he remembered he was spending Lucien’s money, not his own, and even though Lucien’s family were well-off and sending him regular care packages, that still bothered him. Damned if he was taking advantage of the young man.

It did not once occur to Saviik that if loving his own reflection was a flaw, disliking taking Lucien’s money and fully intending to reimburse him was surely a good quality.

Fed and drunk, and then remembering how the privies worked, and it was odd, it felt like a long time since he’d had to do this. Which was strange, didn’t most people do this on a daily basis? Odd. But he managed it, cleaned himself up and finally made his way back to Lucien’s room.

Lucien was tucked up in bed, wearing some sort of red shirt with a gold collar and diamond dragons on it, just visible under the furs. Saviik cast a magelight, stopped and just watched for a few moments, seeing Lucien tucked up in bed and realising just how cute he was.

 _I think… I think I like him. Truly like him._ Yes, the boy was attractive, but he wasn’t just eliciting sexual urges, he was also eliciting strong caring urges. The thought of harm coming to him bothered Saviik. It bothered him immensely. But here, right now, Lucien Flavius was safe and warm and at peace, and Saviik felt at peace just watching him.

Lucien’s eyes flickered open.

“Saviik?” Lucien whispered. “Sorry, did you want the bed?”

Saviik shook himself awake and shook his head. 

“No, no. Just… it doesn’t matter. I will take the bedroll. Close your eyes. I’ll need to undress. I don’t have my own bed clothes.”

“Oh gods, of course you don’t,” Lucien whispered. “Did… did you want to borrow mine? I can lend you the top?”

As if Lucien’s clothes would fit him. Saviik could not keep the smile off his face.

“No. Keep your adorable bedwear. It would hardly fit me anyway. I will be fine. It is not cold in here.”

“Adorable – it’s not adorable!” Lucien protested. “I’m twenty one years old! I’m just wearing these because… because it was a bit cold! And my mother gave them to me. You know how it is… oh gods, you don’t, do you.”

A memory stirred, a vague remembering of blonde hair like his own, a beautiful smile, fur clad arms around him and burying his face in the fur she was wearing, loving the way it felt against his face. He couldn’t have been more than seven or so.

_I had a mother and she loved me._

A pang of loss hit Saviik, and somehow he knew she was no more. He didn’t know how he knew that but he knew it.

“Go back to sleep, Lucien,” Saviik said softly. “Don’t mind me.”

“Saviik?” Lucien whispered. “Saviik, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Saviik sighed. “Not your fault. Get some rest. You need it, I think.”

Not waiting to see if Lucien was looking away, he stripped himself down and slid into the bedroll, extinguishing his magelight and closing his eyes. His past was a mystery… and part of him wondered if perhaps it should stay that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucien's Imperial Legion themed pyjamas are canon and nothing can convince me otherwise!


	2. In Search of the Skaal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery of Saviik's past doesn't have a lot of leads, but the only Nord population on Solstheim is the Skaal, so it's off to the Skaal Village they go in search of a missing Skaal. The missing Skaal in question is not Saviik, but Lucien's conscience won't let them leave this one alone. Of course, combat turns out to be inevitable, and Lucien's conscience will not be the same by the end of it. Meanwhile a name on the tongue of a Dunmer reaver fleeing in terror seems familiar but finding out more might be harder than thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucien is sheltered, inexperienced, his sex education minimal and mostly assuming he was straight due to him not really expressing interest in anyone, due to being grey-asexual which meant any sexual attraction he felt was fleeting and didn't really focus on specific individuals. Until now, that is, and he has absolutely NO IDEA what this all means. Which means Saviik/Miraak is none the wiser and therefore keeping his own feelings under wraps so as not to bother this poor boy and send his one friend and companion running screaming.
> 
> Miraak's cultists are still out there, but a lot of them left the cult when the dream visions stopped and went back to reaving. However, it is just possible a Nord with the Voice turning up out of nowhere might cause a few of them to start... thinking things.

Lucien woke up to the smell of breakfast, of smoked ash hopper, a little boar meat, magelight lighting the room, and when he looked up, Saviik was sitting at the table sipping mead and making a start on his food. Naked apart from the towel round his waist, and Lucien felt his throat seizing up. 

That was… a lot of muscles. That was a fair amount of chest hair. That was long blonde hair that fairly gleamed in the magelight. Those were hands. Hands. Strong hands. Skilled hands, probably. With eager fingers. 

Lucien, it was fair to say, did not have a lot of sexual experience. No. He had precisely none. He’d thought about it, of course. Even read about it. But no one had ever really caught his eye, and the few occasions he’d tried talking to women had usually gone wrong. Somehow babbling about his latest research didn’t win hearts. 

Then there’d been the occasional furtive glances at other boys in the showers at school, and the wondering then hastily looking away because running away and hiding to avoid getting beaten up was fairly routine anyway. Any of his tormentors finding out he couldn’t take his eyes off their backsides would have made it far, far worse. And then there were the crushes on his former tutors. On worldly sophisticated older men who had knowledge to impart. He’d said nothing but he’d suspected they could tell. They’d indulged his intellectual curiosity but always kept him at bay emotionally, at least to some extent.

And now there was Saviik, who’d been kind and who’d saved him and who was an enigma Lucien badly wanted to solve. And who was sitting there with just a towel for modesty and Lucien could not take his eyes off him.

_I need to stop. I need to stop this before he notices and… oh no._

Saviik had noticed. He was looking up, eyes meeting Lucien’s and he was _smiling_ and…

“Good morning, Lucien,” Saviik said cheerfully as if nothing was amiss. “Breakfast is here. Join me?”

Oh thank goodness. He’d either not noticed or somehow didn’t mind or…

Lucien’s brain resolutely shut down the third option, that Saviik not only didn’t mind, he was _pleased._ No. Not happening. Saviik wasn’t, couldn’t possibly be interested in Lucien Flavius, so Lucien put it out of his mind, took a few deep breaths, managed to will the inconvenient erection down, and carefully got up and made his way over, wincing as his feet felt the cold of the stone floor. How on earth Saviik put up with the cold, Lucien had no idea. But he didn’t even seem to notice it.

Sitting opposite him, Lucien resolved to try and ignore the cold as much as possible and focused on the food instead. Yes, that was better, focusing on eating meant he wasn’t staring at Saviik’s muscles and wondering what rubbing his face in the chest hair would feel like.

“So, Lucien, I had a question,” Saviik was asking him, and Lucien dragged his thoughts off Saviik’s chest hair and just what that deep, reverberating voice did to him.

“A question? Yes! Yes, you must have them. Lots of them! What did you want to know?”

“You said when you introduced yourself that you were, among other things, a mage. So tell me. How is it a capable mage is taken unawares by two reavers?”

Amusement in Saviik’s voice and eyes, but no real judgement there. Even so, Lucien could feel himself blushing. Well. This was awkward, wasn’t it.

“Ah. Well. The word you’re looking for there is capable, isn’t it. I can do magic. I know a few spells! But I’m not very good at it. I was always more interested in the history and science and theory. Practical things, I’m not so good at. I mean, Flames spells kept me alive on the roads and I can swing my sword a bit. But… I never really learnt more than novice spells. Not like you. I mean, you don’t even remember who you are or how you learnt magic, and you just tore through them! You wake up in a pit, completely naked, and you’re still better at this sort of thing than I am! I… should definitely have listened to my mother. How I’ve made it this far is nothing short of a miracle. It should have been me ending up naked and left for dead in a shallow grave, not you.”

Lucien looked up with a start as Saviik’s hand shot out and took his wrist.

“No,” Saviik said firmly, smile gone as those intense blue eyes bored into his. “This will not come to pass. Not while I draw breath.”

“Saviik,” Lucien gasped, feeling his cheeks burn. “Saviik, it’s all right, I survived. I’m here. You – you don’t need to worry.”

Disbelief on Saviik’s face as he shook his head.

“Do not tell me that, Lucien. You don’t even have armour, that blade will not serve you in a serious fight, and you don’t have the gifts of a powerful mage even? What were your parents thinking, letting you leave home like this? Do I need to write to them?? Let me guess, you’re the youngest of a large family, they thought they could take the risk or have their resources tied up with your older siblings.”

“I’m an only child,” Lucien admitted, and Saviik let him go, eyes flaring wide.

“You’re an – they let their _only child_ come all the way to _Solstheim_ with a handful of novice spells, no proper clothes, a blade one step up from useless and no bodyguard??” Saviik cried. “What in Bormahu’s name were they thinking?? Are they trying to get you killed??”

Saviik’s voice _throbbed_ as his temper rose and the room seemed to shake… and it was with an effort he got himself back under control, taking his hand from Lucien’s and folding his arms.

“It is as I said,” he said finally. “I will give you the protection you have lacked thus far. We will both get better gear. I require more clothes and a razor. You need armour and a better blade than that thing. And your magical knowledge is dreadful. We will need to work on that. I don’t remember how I learned but the knowledge is there when I need it. I will pass on what I can.”

“You’d do that?” Lucien whispered and Saviik nodded.

“Yes. I cannot always be there in time. You will benefit from skills of your own.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say, knowing he was blushing again but it didn’t seem to matter. Saviik was still looking at him with that _intense_ expression and if he didn’t stop, Lucien was going to cross the table and… and…

He didn’t know, and thankfully Saviik looked away first, glancing down at Lucien’s nightwear and gently flicking the collar.

“Your mother clearly loves you, anyway,” Saviik said, smile returning. “She gave you those. And didn’t want you to leave. So is it just your father I need to remonstrate with then? Is he a bad man? Cruel to you?”

“No!” Lucien protested. “He always encouraged me! He’s an academic too – sort of. He’s a relic hunter for the Empire. He finds artefacts and does field research. I… just wanted to follow in his footsteps.”

“So why are you not. Out in the field with him, I mean,” Saviik asked, frowning. “It is normal to serve an apprenticeship first.”

“I know, I know, I just… wanted to be out there on my own. Making my own discoveries! I came to Skyrim because of all the Dwemer ruins here. Completely unexplored! I could find anything down there! They had technological marvels we can only dream of!”

“I don’t doubt it,” Saviik said, starting to smile, just a little. “Only had it occurred to you the reason they are unexplored is because those who try do not come back?”

“I… um… oh.”

It had not occurred to him at all and now Saviik put it like that, it seemed rather obvious.

“Still, your courage is praiseworthy… if not perhaps your forward planning,” Saviik said, smile increasing. “Niid faas, goraaniik. Have no fear. Now you have me to watch your back. Your chances of returning to tell the story have increased significantly.”

That was such a very Nordic way of looking at things, and if the six foot five, long blonde hair, pale skin and the _voice_ hadn’t given it away, the end goal being returning to tell an epic story of foes slaughtered would have confirmed it. Saviik here was definitely a Nord, and while that would not have helped on the mainland, on Solstheim that narrowed it down considerably.

“Thanks, Saviik,” Lucien said quietly, thinking things over and deciding that while it had been a particular Dwemer ruin that had intrigued him on Solstheim, it wasn’t going anywhere, was it? But Saviik was going every day without knowing who he was, if he had a home somewhere, a family. That took priority in Lucien’s eyes. And he had a few thoughts.

“Listen, I came here to investigate a Dwemer ruin,” Lucien said, reaching for his tea. “But it’s not going anywhere. You, on the other hand, you’re a real mystery! But it’s not hopeless. I have some thoughts! About where we can start looking! It can’t have escaped your attention you’re a Nord.”

A frown on Saviik’s face, as if he disagreed with that but didn’t want to argue.

“Come on, look at you, you tower over everyone, you’ve got that classic blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin going on, and that’s a Nordic accent you have there. It’s not like the mainland ones. But it’s Nordic. And… and you can shout. With your voice. And things happen. You shouted at that reaver and he ran away in terror!”

“Yes,” Saviik said, shifting uneasily. “Fahdoni, my friend, don’t ask me how I know it. I just do.”

“No, I know,” Lucien said, not wanting to push or pry for answers he couldn’t possibly give. “But after the Red Mountain erupted two hundred years ago, the High King of Skyrim at the time gave the island to Dunmer refugees. A lot of Nords living here left, and the Dunmer moved in. Most of the island’s population are Dark Elves now. If you think you’re from here, that’s not a lot of places to look. Look, did anyone recognise you in the tavern last night?”

Saviik shook his head.

“No. But… when I was ordering dinner… the innkeeper seemed to think he recognised my voice from somewhere. But he couldn’t remember where. And no one recognises my face. I do not think I ever lived here, Lucien.”

“It’s the only real town on the island, there’s not many other places you could be from,” Lucien said, thinking this over. “Odd that he knew your voice but not your face. And he didn’t know from where? Saviik, I have to tell you, you have the most distinctive voice I ever heard. I’d know it anywhere, and there’s no way I could forget you. You stand out!”

Saviik almost preened as he leaned forward, beaming.

“I do, do I?” he purred, and Lucien swiftly crossed his legs because this really wouldn’t do. Just because Saviik was tall and strong and clearly a skilled battlemage and his voice _throbbed._ Just because of all that was no reason for Lucien to keep getting inconveniently hard all the time.

Side effect of that odd vocal reverb. Had to be. It’d go away in time, right?

“Yes, I mean of course, in Raven Rock you do. It’s nearly all Dunmer,” Lucien gasped. “So is Tel Mithryn to the east. But the Skaal Village isn’t! They’re Nords. Sort of. They’re descended from the original population of Nords – Atmorans, really – that were the first humans to come here. If you think you’re a native Solstheimer, you might be from there!”

Saviik looked thoughtful, but at the same time, not certain.

“It is also possible the enemy who tried to kill me is there,” Saviik murmured. “We will have to be careful. But yes, we should go. Why don’t you do the talking to start with? If my voice is so recognisable, maybe it’s best they hear only yours to start.”

That wasn’t a bad idea. So they finished breakfast, got dressed, and left the cornerclub for the Skaal Village. Solstheim wasn’t a large island and Saviik, on seeing where it was on Lucien’s map, seemed to instinctively know the way, leading them on a trail by the mine and straight across country, stopping every so often to make sure Lucien was keeping up, and effortlessly dealing with enemies, from wildlife to reavers.

One particular set of reavers fell before Saviik’s Shouts, as he summoned a particularly pretty dragon illusion that seemed to give him superhuman strength. The reaver chief died before him, and one of the others fled, crying ‘Miraak save me!’

Lucien had never heard of a god called Miraak before. Saviik watched her go, frowning.

“You know that name?” Saviik said, frowning. “Allegiance-Guide?”

“No,” Lucien gasped. “You knew what it meant?”

“If it’s in my second language, then apparently yes,” Saviik said, frowning. “It sounds familiar. I feel I should know it. I should have gone after her, asked what it meant. Ah well. Never mind. It is not a Dunmer god you have heard of?”

“No, the Dunmer worship three Daedric Princes, the Reclamations,” Lucien said, recalling what he’d learned on visits to the Temple in Raven Rock. “Azura, Boethiah and Mephala. None were ever called Miraak. Or Allegiance-Guide.”

Saviik wondered if it was some local Solstheim deity then, but it must be an obscure one if the Dunmer in Raven Rock knew nothing of them. Maybe the Skaal would know more.

“Ask about that name in the Skaal Village maybe,” Saviik said, effortlessly stripping the reaver chief of the armour that looked similar to the gear Saviik had. “Here. This armour seems smaller than mine. See if it fits you.”

“I’m not sure if I’m up to running around with all this metal strapped to me,” Lucien gasped as Saviik helped him get into it, seeming to just know how this stuff worked.

“You will get used to it,” Saviik said, amused. “Also it will keep you warm and safe, fahdoni. Take his sword too. There. Now you look like a true warrior.”

Lucien truly didn’t feel like one but he looked up and saw genuine pride in Saviik’s eyes, and that… that meant something.

“Thanks,” Lucien gasped, not able to keep the happy smile off his face, and Saviik’s smile broadened. Then he reached out and gently patted Lucien’s cheek.

“In time you will be a mighty warrior whose name will be feared,” Saviik said softly. “On that day, I shall hear the skalds tell your story and feel nothing but pride.”

Lucien would really rather be the author of various research papers and a few books… but he’d take a song of his adventures, and the thought of Saviik being proud of him was… was… goodness, he’d do anything to make Saviik proud of him.

“But first, you will need to work,” Saviik continued. “So. Show me what you’d do with that sword. Pretend that tree is your foe.”

All right. Lucien could do this. A few tentative strikes and… a weary sigh from Saviik.

“Goraaniik. Had that been an actual foe, he would have killed you by now. Hold it like this…”

An hour later, and Lucien was gasping for breath, but he’d got a better idea of how not to die at least.

“Not bad!” Saviik laughed, patting him on the back. “Hi mindos nel – you learn quickly. Dein kostir – keep trying. Also forget about honour. You are not skilled enough for honour yet. Go for his weak points. With multiple foes, go for the weakest one. Leave the strongest ones for me.”

No fear of that. Lucien was eager to please and keen to impress… but not that keen.

On they pressed to the Skaal Village, and Saviik looked around, frowning. Nothing here seemed familiar, not really. The architecture, sure, but the houses had been in a different place once, he was sure, and… he could swear the village had been further inland?

Or the hazy memory was of some other place entirely, a village no longer standing. Certainly none of the faces looked familiar either, and while Saviik did get some admiring looks, no one called a name and greeted him.

Saviik was becoming more and more convinced he was no Skaal. But Lucien wanted to make sure, and on asking for the chief and if any Skaal were missing, were told that yes, actually, the smith was missing, they should give information to Fanari Strong-Voice.

“It saddens my heart that you won’t believe me, Fanari,” one of the Skaal was sighing. “If you won’t send someone, I’ll ask the All-Maker to send me someone who will.”

Lucien wasted no time.

“Hello! I couldn’t help overhearing. Is your smith missing? I might have found someone who could be him. Does he look familiar?”

He pointed at Saviik, and the Skaal, who turned out to be called Deor, looked at the blonde warrior poking awkwardly at the forge.

“All-Maker, no, we’d all remember him. And no offence, stranger, but I don’t think he’s ever worked a forge in his life.”

“He’s not one of your people?” Lucien said, inwardly cursing. “You don’t recognise him at all??”

“No. I’m sorry, stranger.”

“Lucien,” Lucien sighed. “Lucien Flavius. Oh well. Thank you for your help. It’s ruled out one lead. I’m sorry about your smith. Where did you last see him? Do you think he’s gone far?”  
Now that Lucien thought about it, it seemed odd for the smith to be missing. Plenty of the Skaal might have cause to leave the village and go missing – hunters, fishermen, mushroom and berry gatherers, firewood collectors. But not the smith who would do most of his work in the village and trade his goods for food and fuel found by others.

It turned out no one really knew where he’d gone, but there’d been elves seen nearby – not Dunmer but gold-skinned ones that Lucien recognised as Altmer.

Either there was an all-Altmer gang of reavers that had decided to set up shop in Solstheim of all places, or…

“Why would anyone kidnap your smith?” he asked. Deor didn’t know but he did know that Baldor Iron-Shaper had known how to smith stalhrim. Stalhrim weapons and armour were rare and priceless, and smithing them was a lost art. Someone might have kidnapped the smith to get his knowledge on how to make stalhrim weapons.

Lucien thought of stalhrim weapons in Aldmeri Dominion hands and shivered. They had got to find this smith and quickly.

“These elves, does anyone know where they might be hiding out,” Lucien asked, hoping Saviik would be all right with killing a load of Thalmor. Turned out Deor did know that, he and some of his friends had tracked them to a hunter’s lodge west of the Tree Stone, which was half-buried in the Temple of Miraak.

That name again. Saviik had said to ask.

“Sorry, I don’t know the names of any Skaal gods. Who’s Miraak?”

Deor’s eyes darkened at that. 

“He’s no Skaal god, stranger. He’s a dead man who deserved his fate. We don’t speak of him. But if you truly want to know, help find Baldor. Bring our smith home. Then maybe our shaman, Frea, will tell you of him. She knows more of that story than anyone else here.”

Lucien thanked him, promised to look for Baldor, then went to find Saviik, presently holding up tools, staring at the anvil, awkwardly hitting a bit of metal with a hammer then shaking his head and throwing the tools back down with a muttered curse.

“Well, it turns out you’re not the missing smith,” Lucien said brightly. Start with the good – no, just the better – news.

“Thank the gods, because I have no idea where to start with these tools,” Saviik sighed. “I do not believe I ever learned this.”

Most likely no. All of Saviik’s skills said skilled battlemage. Others would have done the smithing for him.

“Also no one here recognises you, so this clearly wasn’t your home,” Lucien added, still disappointed their one lead hadn’t panned out. A flicker of disappointment in Saviik’s eyes too. Had he really been hoping for a life of cozy domesticity in the Skaal Village that much?

“It would have been too much to hope for,” Saviik sighed. “Lucien, I am starting to think I was little better than a reaver.”

“Don’t say that!” Lucien cried. “You’re a lot better at fighting than most reavers! And you’re not a bad person. You saved me, gave me my coinpurse back, took me back to Raven Rock and made sure I was all right. You’re teaching me how to not die. You wouldn’t do all that if you were completely awful.”

Silence from Saviik as if he badly wanted to disagree with this. Lucien really did want to shake him sometimes.

“You’re _not,_ ” Lucien said firmly, planting his hands on Saviik’s biceps. “Look, I’m not arguing with you about this. You’re a good person, or at the very least capable of being one. Never mind if you were a hardened criminal before. You’ve got a second chance! Use it for good!”

“You have an alarming amount of faith in me,” Saviik said, but he was smiling. It didn’t quite reach his eyes but it was a smile. “Did you learn anything else?”

“Yes, their smith’s missing and there were Altmer in the area. High Elves. There’s none of them living on Solstheim, and no real reason for any to come here. I’m a bit worried they might be Thalmor.”

Confusion on Saviik’s face and then Lucien had to explain a bit about the Great War, the Aldmeri Dominion and the White-Gold Concordat, and the Skyrim Civil War, all news to Saviik.

“So the Empire barely survived a war with this Aldmeri Dominion, was forced to stop worshipping one of its gods as part of the peace treaty and these Thalmor elves are allowed to arrest people if they find them worshipping Talos. And you think they came all the way here to abduct a humble village smith.”

When Saviik put it like that, it did sound a bit ridiculous, but then Lucien remembered his mother’s stories from the war, and imagined all that but the advancing Aldmeri war machine had stalhrim as well.

“He knows how to forge stalhrim, Saviik. We can’t let the Dominion get its hands on stalhrim weapons! Who knows what they’ll do with them?? Well, actually, I can guess. Invade Cyrodiil – _again_ – and probably win, because we’re in no state to fight back as it is. My parents live in the capital, Saviik. I can’t…”

Lucien trailed off because he’d heard stories from his mother, and it was the bits she wouldn’t tell him that told him the most. He couldn’t even think about that all happening again, not with his parents in the firing line.

Tread of Saviik’s boots in the snow and then those strong Nordic arms were going round him, pulling him tight and holding him close, and it occurred to him if there was ever a symbol of mutually beneficial Skyrim-Cyrodiil relations, it was this: a terrifyingly powerful Nord warrior comforting a scared young Imperial a long way from home.

“Then let’s find this smith, goraaniik. Did they tell you where to start looking?”

“There’s this lodge on the other side of the Temple of Miraak, the elves seem to be working out of there. Ooh, I found out about Miraak too! A little anyway. Apparently he’s not a god, he was human. But not a very nice one, the Skaal don’t seem to have a good word to say about him. Apparently he died. But that doesn’t explain how he got his own Temple and apparently Dunmer worshippers. The shaman might be able to tell us more but we’ll need to find the smith first.”

Saviik listened in silence, then shivered, seeming thoroughly unnerved.

“The Temple of Miraak is the big one I awoke outside,” Saviik said quietly, and Lucien nodded. 

“I think so, yes. Are you all right?”

“Yes. Yes I think so,” Saviik said, staring in the direction of the Temple. “I just… can’t help but wonder if this is connected somehow. Miraak, Miraak… I know that name. I just don’t know how.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say to that. Maybe there was a connection. Miraak was killed, and then Saviik woke with no memories in a shallow grave outside his old temple. Or maybe it was nothing. 

They wouldn’t know until they’d tracked down this Skaal smith and spoken to the shaman. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The lodge was not hard to find, and while Saviik didn’t know the lodge in question, he knew the Temple’s location and seemed to know the lay of the land, and the lodge turned out not to be too difficult to track down once you knew the possible locations.

Sure enough, four Altmer were camped outside in leather armour, huddling round a fire and looking thoroughly miserable.

“We seek Baldor Iron-Shaper, elf,” Saviik announced, having told Lucien to keep out of sight. “Have you seen him? He is a Nord like me. He is the smith of the Skaal Village.”

“That is none of your concern, ‘citizen’,” one of the elves snapped back, and Saviik grinned.

“Wrong answer,” Saviik purred, and next moment, the elf was screaming on the floor in pain from Saviik’s shock magic.

“Now _tell me_ where you have the smith,” Saviik snarled at them, and as weapons were raised, Saviik cast mage armour and unleashed his Thu’um.

“ZUN HAAL VIIK!”

“What the- aaarrrghhh!”

Lucien couldn’t even look. Saviik had just torn into four probably-Thalmor, including torturing one of them for information. Saviik’s conviction he might not have been a good person was starting to look likely… but at the same time, they were Thalmor. They would have easily done the same to them.

That probably didn’t make it right, did it. But the screaming was done, and Lucien risked a peak to see four dead elves lying on the ground in pools of blood, and Saviik going through their pockets.

He looked up, smiled and produced a key and a letter.

“They are holding him here. See!”

Lucien read the letter and winced.

_I grow impatient with your lack of progress. If you cannot break the smith, I will be forced to find a more capable interrogator. I expect your next report to contain more encouraging results.  
\- A _

“Those utter bastards,” Lucien said fervently. “Not that you were any better, I might add. You can’t just hurt people until they give you information.”

Saviik growled, glaring at Lucien and Lucien almost flinched… but something told him that Saviik wasn’t truly going to hurt him.

“They were not guiltless,” Saviik snapped. “Had they been, they would simply have told me they knew nothing.”

“Not the point,” Lucien said softly, and Saviik huffed, shaking his head… but did not argue.

“Had you been a prisoner on the other side of that door, I would have done whatever was required to rescue you and made no apology,” Saviik muttered, scowling as he got to his feet. “But fine. It shall be as you wish. Now shall we find this smith?”

The key opened the door, and as they stepped in, a man with a Skaal accent called to them.

“Help! I am held against my will and in need of rescue!”

“Hold on, we’re coming!” Lucien cried, and Saviik was already moving to the small lodge’s basement.

In the corner, a fur-clad Skaal in his forties was sitting, hands tied and face bruised. Saviik went to his side and drew his axe, easily slicing through the ropes then casting healing magic on him.

“You are Baldor Iron-Shaper. Your kin feared for you,” Saviik said, voice surprisingly gentle considering he’d been quite willing to shock information out of someone mere minutes ago.

“You have my thanks, stranger,” Baldor said, shaking himself down. “I… don’t know you, but I swear I know your voice.”

Saviik’s face went carefully blank.

“Is that so,” was all he said. “I know we have not met. But it does not matter. You are free, and you should go back to your kin before more elves come.”

“I will,” Baldor promised, leaning on Saviik as he got to his feet. “But… there are more of them. Their leader, Ancarion, he’s based on a ship anchored off the north coast. He has a map to a new source of stalhrim and he wanted to know how to forge weapons from it. Please, you have to stop him. Get the map off him however you have to, but please, don’t let him make his weapons!”

Saviik glanced at Lucien then nodded. Lucien might be lawfully inclined but he was no pacifist and clearly not fond of these Thalmor.

Baldor was seen off home, and then it was off to the north coast. This time, Saviik didn’t even bother talking before attacking, and this time, Lucien didn’t stop him. This time, Lucien followed behind and even got in some spellcasting himself, one of the soldiers falling to fire and a few hits from his new sword.

It was disturbing how easy that turned out to be, and Lucien stared at the dead Thalmor and wondered if he’d had any kin back home. Had he joined up freely or been conscripted? And did he know he’d end up dying on a frozen shore far from home?

Lucien didn’t know but he mourned anyway… until he felt Saviik’s hand on his shoulder.

“Goraaniik. I killed the leader and found the map the smith spoke off. Are you… Lucien?”

Lucien closed his eyes and hugged Saviik, tears in his eyes, not sure he was really cut out for this.

“You killed one. Well done.” 

Saviik’s fingers running through his hair and then a kiss on the forehead of all things.

“Your first?”

Lucien nodded wordlessly, suddenly missing Cyrodiil very very badly and wanting a hug from his mother. Except his mother had done this. His loving mother who’d tended to him and doted on him, and who Lucien adored. She’d killed people in the war, had to have done. How had she managed? He’d never asked, never even thought about it. And she’d retired after to get married and raise him. Perhaps she’d had difficulty killing people as well. That was comforting.

“It gets easier, fahdoni.”

Saviik’s hands on his back and Lucien didn’t want it to get easier. He didn’t like what that meant. As it was, Saviik seemed to have no problem with it at all.

“Lucien. I took no particular joy in their deaths either. But if they had got their stalhrim weapons, many more would have died, believe me. Maybe your kin among them. We do what we must, kendovi goraan.”

“What’s that mean?” Lucien whispered. Young something, he guessed.

“My young warrior,” Saviik translated. “You know, you did not have to join that fight. I had that one.”

“I know but I can’t sit back and let you do all the work!” Lucien protested, finally looking up. “What if one of them gets you? I can’t… I can’t just stand there and watch!”

“Just as I will not stand by and let you come to harm either,” Saviik said, stroking Lucien’s face and no, no, now was not the time to start getting hard! Just because Saviik was staring at him with that intense expression on his face, the promise of protection in his voice throbbing down Lucien’s spine and pooling in his groin, and Lucien heard himself whimper and…

Staggering back, mortified, Lucien shook the thoughts from his brain, because if he’d stared at Saviik’s exquisite features much longer, he had no idea what might happen but it would not have been good. What if he’d kissed him?? Saviik’s reaction did not bear thinking about.

“I’m so sorry,” Lucien gasped. “I don’t know what came over me just then. I – can we get out of here? Tell the Skaal they don’t need to worry about the Thalmor?”

Saviik said nothing, just nodding, eyes not leaving Lucien. Then his hand found Lucien’s shoulder.

“Your bravery and honour are undeniable, Lucien Flavius,” Saviik said softly. “Never doubt it, fahdoni.”

Lucien was going to end up hugging him for dear life if he kept this up, he just knew it. But that was pathetic and definitely not going to impress a True Nord like Saviik, so he just nodded and started moving, whispering thanks.

Saviik said nothing, but his hand slipped round Lucien’s shoulders, providing a one-armed hug and it looked as if he was going to lean in to say or do something… and then he let Lucien go, stepping away and putting space between them.

This was probably for the best… but Lucien couldn’t stop thinking about Saviik’s arms round him and just how comforting the promise of strength and protection held there felt. Ridiculous, of course. He was trying to be out there making a name for himself and make his own discoveries, not rely on Saviik to protect him all the time. But all the same… it had felt more comforting than anything since leaving home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, it's back to the Skaal Village, and Lucien and Saviik find out more about Miraak. They'll be doing Lost Legacy as well, due to Lucien being unable to resist helping a scholar in need and Saviik really liking the way Lucien lights up at the prospect of knowledge.


	3. Lost Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescuing the Skaal smith earns Lucien and Saviik the title of Skaal-friend, but the Skaal's tales of their greatest enemy make it start to ring hollow, especially for Saviik, and an offer of work from the Skaal's resident anthropologist only sharpens his fears. Meanwhile Saviik and Lucien aren't the only ones concerned about Miraak, as the Dragon of Jorrvaskr starts sniffing around with a mate skilled at infiltration in tow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lost Legacy's a very interesting quest indeed when you've got actual Miraak doing the Dragonborn role. I mean, this one has no actual memory of the past at least, but even he's reacting. Memories Intact!Miraak would have been erasing certain things off Word Walls permanently.
> 
> Also what is up with you going to all that trouble to sort out Miraak with Frea there for a big chunk of it, the Skaal shaman getting brutally murdered by a Daedra in front of everyone, and Tharstan himself helping build a shrine, and still canon Tharstan has no clue who Miraak was. Fixed that for you. He now knows a big chunk of what Frea does.
> 
> Also Happy New Year!

Back at the Skaal Village and Baldor had made it back safely and been delighted to hear the map had been retrieved and the elves wouldn’t trouble them again. He’d repaid them with the knowledge of how to work with stalhrim, and Lucien took notes, he really did… but it turned out that in order to use this knowledge, you needed to know how to work ebony.

Of course neither of them did. Which made it…

“Not useless,” Saviik told Lucien. “Knowledge is never useless. Someone will want this.”

“Are you insane?” Lucien whispered back. “We can’t just sell this to any old person! Eight know what they’ll do with it!”

“I did not say we should run out and trade it off to the nearest reaver lord,” Saviik sighed. “But it could be valuable one day. Keep it safe. Now, you said the shaman could tell us more about…”

He fell silent, seeing a Skaal approach. Richly dressed, not unlike Lucien had been when Saviik had met him. Older, fifty, sixty even? And seeming pleased to see them both.

“Hello there, gentlemen! Do I have the pleasure of talking to the two heroic adventurers who rescued Baldor?”

“That’s us!” Lucien said brightly. Saviik was actually preening, flicking his hair and managing to look cool in a way Lucien would never manage.

“Marvellous, marvellous! You are just the adventurous sort I need!”

The man turned out to be a scholar called Tharstan who’d come to study the Skaal and ended up staying. He’d even married their chief, Fanari. And he had a side line in investigating the old ruins of Solstheim. It turned out another one had recently opened up, a previously buried barrow and he wanted to investigate.

“If you two would like to help, I’d be happy to pay you for your time!” Tharstan said brightly.

Lucien saw a kindred spirit and immediately agreed, before remembering perhaps Saviik had other ideas. To his surprise, Saviik was grinning at him.

“Of course we will go,” Saviik said cheerfully. “Lucien here is a fellow scholar. He loves historical research. How can I deprive my dearest friend of the chance to acquire knowledge? Where is this ruin?”

Tharstan was delighted and went off to pack his things and get ready, promising to meet them at the tomb. Leaving Lucien with a question or two for Saviik.

“Dearest friend?” Lucien asked. “We’ve known each other all of two days, you realise!”

Saviik smiled rather tenderly and ran a finger down Lucien’s cheek, tucking hair behind his ear.

“Yes, and in that time, you have shown me a kindness and affection that is rare in this world,” Saviik said, still smiling. “I remember little of my past, if anything, but I feel it was shaped by suffering and tragedy. I believe kindness and happiness were rare things. Why else would the small kindnesses you have offered feel so precious to me? Why else would I feel such gratitude? Lucien. It’s possible I may meet friends I don’t recall, or make new ones. But you will always have a place in my heart.”

Lucien was definitely blushing, he knew it. And he did not remotely have Saviik’s ability to pluck words from the air and weave poetry with them. But he did know compliments when he heard them and… he was in no way living up to Saviik’s view of him and it was a wee bit worrying that Saviik had had so little real friendship in his life he’d latched on to Lucien.

All the same though, it was nice to hear.

“Ah, you’re not so bad yourself, old chap,” Lucien said awkwardly, falling back on Cyrodiilic cultural norms of playing down one’s emotions. “Shall we, er, go and see this shaman then?”

Frea the shaman turned out to be young, not a lot older than Lucien and dressed in armour like theirs. She didn’t remotely look like a priest.

“The previous chief taught me how to fight,” Frea said, shrugging. “I was an angry child. He thought it would help channel some of that fire. It has come in useful. You had questions, they tell me. Questions about Miraak.”

She spat the name like it was a curse, and Saviik’s hand slipped quietly into Lucien’s. Lucien gave it a quick squeeze. It seemed this story was not a happy one.

Sure enough, Frea told the tale of the First Dragonborn, a Dragon Priest in the Dragon Cult who’d once ruled all Solstheim, a powerful man who’d seemed to want more and turned to Daedra worship. He’d ended up worshipping Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of Forbidden Knowledge, and finally turned on his draconic masters, leading a rebellion which ended with the Cult putting the rebellion down, and Miraak at the point of death before Hermaeus Mora snatched him away.

“Then what,” Lucien whispered, not looking at Saviik. “I mean, did he just stay in Apocrypha all that time, or…”

“He survived for untold ages until last year,” Frea said grimly. “Then… all Solstheim lost their minds. They would leave their homes and go to the All-Maker Stones, building shrines and chanting this mantra, their own minds lost to them. At first just at night but eventually during the day as well. Only a few of us remained untouched. We would all have succumbed had the Dragonborn not come from Skyrim. She was seeking a man named Miraak, whose cultists had tried to kill her. She is no Skaal but she is a Nord, and she has the same gift of the Voice Miraak did. She too can kill dragons and take their souls. She found out Miraak was behind the madness, that he’d taken control of people’s minds, that the shrines were to bring him back to Solstheim. She was able to use her Voice to stop that, break Miraak’s hold over the stones. But she didn’t have his full power. In order to get that, she had to make a deal with Mora herself. It involved persuading my father to give up the secrets of the Skaal. My father paid for that deal with his life. It is why I take up the mantle of shaman so young.”

“That’s horrible,” Lucien whispered. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Saviik’s hand was trembling and he’d tightened his grip on Lucien. 

“Thank you,” Frea said softly. “I mourn him daily. But his death was not in vain. Melinda travelled to Apocrypha and used that knowledge to end Miraak for good. She killed him and took his soul. He is gone for good and the world is better for it.”

His worshippers had presumably scattered to the winds, presumably taking up less respectable occupations but maybe retaining some of the faith. But how any of this related to Saviik was anyone’s guess. Was he a former cultist maybe? Or had he run afoul of them? It might explain why he’d ended up left for dead near their temple. 

Lucien thanked Frea and they took their leave, and to his surprise, Saviik strode out of the village and did not stop until it was out of sight, sitting down on a rock with his head in his hands, helm off and mane of hair cascading over his fingers.

“Saviik?” Lucien asked, worried. “Saviik, are you all right?”

“No,” came the response. “No, fahdoni, I am not. That tale, that story… I cannot unthink it. That is not a word, is it.”

“No, but… Saviik, it’s all right. It’s a sad story, yes but Miraak’s gone. He’s dead and gone from the sound of it. Maybe you knew his name, but from what Frea told us, he was in everyone’s heads. Perhaps you were on the island then and were working on the shrines with the rest of them.”

Saviik shivered and shook his head.

“I’m not so sure,” Saviik said softly. “The entire story sounded familiar. As if I knew it somehow. As if I knew how it would end before Frea told it.”

He looked up then, desperate blue eyes meeting Lucien’s.

“Lucien, if the Voice is secret, rare knowledge, known only to Dragonborns, how do I seem to know it without effort or training?”

“I…” Lucien honestly had no idea. “I don’t know. But there could be any number of reasonable explanations. All of which are a lot more likely than… than…”

“Than the First Dragonborn coming back from the dead?” Saviik finally said, smiling at Lucien… but it did not meet his eyes and Lucien shivered to see that expression. There was more than a hint of madness in those eyes. Madness and terror.

“You don’t even know you are Dragonborn,” Lucien pointed out. “We’ve not fought a dragon – and may I say I’m in no hurry to – and you can’t possibly know if you truly are one without killing one and taking its soul. And on a purely personal level, I would rather we didn’t go seeking out dragons. Please.”

The plaintiveness in that last word must have got through to Saviik because he closed his eyes and said nothing, staring at the floor with his head in his hands. And then he laughed softly, and looked up, looking a little less terrified at least.

“Niid faas. I will not take you fighting dragons. I would not put you in such danger. But tell me. If I did turn out to be Miraak reborn, would you still be my friend?”

“Gods, of course I…”

Lucien stopped, because the man in that story had frankly had it coming. Consorting with Daedra. Ending up in Apocrypha as penance. Enslaving an entire island. Finally getting put down by a fellow Dragonborn. Dying fairly irrevocably as said Dragonborn took his soul. Very little there to sympathise with, and it was extremely unlikely that said First Dragonborn had somehow risen from the dead. And if he had… would that be a good thing? Almost certainly not.

And yet, here was Saviik fearing he might be that man. Saviik who had saved Lucien’s life. Saviik who had been kind, gentle, even tender. Who had fussed over him and erupted in fury at Lucien going off into the unknown, unprotected. Who had unfailingly protected Lucien from enemies and insisted if Lucien was ever taken prisoner, he would do whatever it took to free him.

He’d implied he’d torture anyone in the way to get to Lucien. Saviik was not a good person. Saviik might dote on Lucien, but other people didn’t really seem to register.

Still. He’d also promised not to use torture on people at Lucien’s insistence. He’d tried to comfort Lucien after he’d been feeling upset after killing someone. He’d been kind to Lucien and taken it upon himself to give him lessons. Both with the blade and in magic. And he was very, very free with the hugs. Maybe it was a Nordic thing. Maybe it was a symptom of the obsession he was seeming to develop over Lucien. But Lucien liked it. Lucien liked it a lot.

“Yes,” Lucien said softly. “Yes, I would. I know Miraak did some awful things. But you’re more than that. I said before, whatever you did before, you have a second chance. Your past doesn’t have to define you. You can choose to be better. Do better! Look, we know Miraak died. Definitely, irrevocably, pretty permanently dead. For you to be him, for him to be back from the dead, something pretty powerful would have had to intervene and I don’t think Hermaeus Mora would do it. If you are him, that means someone brought you back and they did that for a reason. Maybe you’re meant to do better this time around. So you should do that. And I’d like to see you do it. Of course we’re still friends. You’re my Saviik. That won’t change!”

Saviik did look up at that, staring up at Lucien, and then he beamed.

“Yes,” he said cheerfully. “Yes I am.”

Getting up, he smiled down at Lucien, hand cupping the back of Lucien’s head and for the oddest moment Lucien thought he was going to kiss him, which was madness, clearly, people simply did not ever react to Lucien like that.

And thankfully, neither did Saviik, who dropped his hand to Lucien’s shoulders and pulled him into a hug instead. This was still very very odd for Lucien, who only ever got hugged by his mother and she didn’t tower over him and squeeze him like Saviik did. 

“Tavern?” Saviik said cheerfully, letting him go. “I have money of my own now! The Thalmor had some. Let me buy you a drink, hmm? The sujammas are to die for.”

Lucien really hadn’t expected a Nord like Saviik to like Dunmer drinks so much. He definitely approved though. Maybe this was the amnesia wiping out the Nordic pride. Or maybe Saviik had never been the True Nord Stormcloak type. What was the First Dragonborn’s stance on Talos-worship anyway?

Not that Saviik was the First Dragonborn reborn of course. That was patently ridiculous. There were other ways of learning the Thu’um. Lucien would need to think about this and research. After helping Tharstan of course.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Never let Saviik drink that many sujammas again. Never. Lucien made a mental note to perhaps set a few boundaries next time because after his fourth, Saviik became… affectionate. Very affectionate. Cuddling Lucien, arm wrapped around him, paying extravagant compliments, stroking his hair… and his back… and when he wasn’t hugging him, he was relentlessly holding Lucien’s hand and rubbing it with his thumb.

It was extremely disconcerting and it kept giving Lucien inconvenient erections, and eventually he’d forced himself to wriggle out of Saviik’s arms and insist he really ought to get some shut-eye but Saviik was welcome to stay up if he wanted. 

Saviik had had the nerve to stare at him with the saddest expression on his face but he’d let Lucien go. Ten minutes later, Saviik had staggered into their room, stripped off without even looking at Lucien who was curled up in the bed, and then slipped into the bedroll, stark naked under the furs.

Thank Stendarr he hadn’t noticed Lucien staring at him. Dear gods, the muscles. No one should have that many. No one.

The morning after, Saviik had been a little hungover and drunk about three cups of ash yam coffee, grimacing at each one but still drinking it anyway.

Neither had spoken about the previous night. Lucien had been quietly relieved. He’d not seen Lucien staring at him. Oh thank goodness. Lucien was so relieved, he quietly forgave the overfriendliness. It wasn’t even that he minded, it just gave him the most unfortunate reactions. Which showed no sign of stopping any time soon. Mara help him.

Thankfully Saviik, aside from the hangover, didn’t seem to notice anything wrong and was as friendly as ever, and after breakfast and bathing, they set out for the ruin to meet Tharstan.

He was there already, very pleased to see them.

“Come in, come in! I scouted ahead and you won’t believe what’s inside! The central chamber is incredibly well-preserved, look! Hidden away for thousands of years, this may have lain undisturbed since the Dragon War itself. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Lucien had to agree. The entrance tunnel led to a vast open cavern with what looked like a building at the far end – but there was a lake in the way and no obvious means of crossing it. A gate off to each side, but both sealed, and a fire pit in the centre. All interesting but Lucien had a feeling the most interesting parts lay behind the gates and over the lake.

Tharstan indicated a switch on a pillar overlooking the fire pit.

“The only thing of interest I found so far is this. Now, I don’t know if you can read the dragon language but…”

All scratches and dots to Lucien. Saviik glanced at the plaque… then frowned and looked again, casting a magelight.

“Zahrahmiik fen drun hi wah tol hi yah,” Saviik said in wonder, before staring up at Tharstan. “Sacrifice will bring you to that you seek. You said this was the Dragon Language?”

“Well, yes, all the writing from this era was in it, it’s all over the Ancient Nord ruins,” Tharstan said, surprised. “It was the lingua tamrielica of the day. All lands under the Dragon Cult wrote exclusively in this, and the script lingered well after the Cult ended and the language itself died out. And you can read it?”

“Apparently,” Saviik said softly, sounding more troubled than Lucien had ever heard him. 

“My goodness, I had no idea!” Tharstan gasped. “Good sir, your input will be invaluable. Now to think about what it means. A sacrifice will bring us to what we’re looking for. Does it mean we’ve got to sacrifice something to move onward? I did find out this lever opens that fire pit.”

“Something or someone,” Saviik said quietly. “We could go looking for a reaver or… wait.”

Saviik’s magic lashed out and seized a desiccated Draugr corpse from near the pit, and levitated it onto the grate. One turn of the lever later, and the gates to the side opened as the flames devoured the Draugr.

“And there you have it,” Saviik announced, although he didn’t sound proud.

“Wonderful!” Tharstan gasped. “Seeing as you seem to know what you’re doing, why don’t you lead the way?”

Saviik, normally more than happy to lead the way, actually flinched. Then he nodded, taking off for the right hand gate. 

Lucien took the opportunity to run after him and catch him up.

“Saviik? Saviik, what’s wrong?”

“My mysterious second language that powers my Shouts is the tongue of dragons,” Saviik said softly. “And I can read these inscriptions with no trouble. Even know what the letters are called. I can hear this song that taught me the sounds – but I don’t know who taught me it.”

“That does not mean you’re the resurrected First Dragonborn,” Lucien said firmly. “Tharstan can read it too. There’s clearly scholars studying it!”

Saviik said nothing, shaking his head but not arguing. He just indicated for them to move on, slowing his stride the sole concession for Tharstan’s age.

The next chamber involved a grid of nine tiles and another inscription.

“This one says to continue on the path, tread not where you have been,” Saviik translated. “It likely refers to these tiles. Stay back.”

Saviik leapt on to the first tile and moved round the grid, stepping on them all without double-backing and as he leapt off the grid, the bars walling off the other half of the room slunk down.

Of course, sarcophagus lids crashed back and three Draugr burst out. Saviik raised his hands, magic crackling as he called for the two of them to stay back.

Two fell quickly but the third, the strongest, bore straight down on Saviik, hissing something at him in Dovahzul.

“ _Tahrodiis vosonaak, zu’u fen vaaz hin sil!_ ”

Saviik did not even respond, lightning shocking it back and forcing it to stagger, and then he shouted and a fireball reduced it to ashes.

“And now your heart is a pile of smoking ash,” Saviik muttered, kicking it over then noticing something in the ash. Reaching down, he picked up something that looked like a purple dragon claw – or half of one.

“Fascinating!” Tharstan gasped, although whether he meant the half-claw or Saviik, no one could tell. “That looks like one of the fabled dragon claw keys that they used to seal tombs with! Except I’ve never heard of one coming in two pieces. Hang on to it, the other half might be in here somewhere. And was that the Thu’um?? Young man, you continue to impress! How on earth did you learn that? Were you a Greybeard once, like Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm?”

“I… don’t know,” Saviik admitted. “There was an accident. I lost my memory. But not apparently my Thu’um.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Tharstan said sadly. “But your skills are certainly coming in useful! Look, there’s a Word Wall here! Let’s see what it says. Hmm, seems to commemorate a guardian whose courage inspired both men and dragons.”

“Mahfearaak dahmaan sahrot Vahlok,” Saviik said softly. “Vahlok might have been his name. Or maybe it was the name they gave him.”

“My goodness, hearing you actually read that… you almost seem to bring the words to life!” Tharstan breathed. “It’s one thing reading Dovahzul, but to hear someone actually say it...”

Tight little smile on Saviik’s face as he nodded.

“Your own name means Saviour, doesn’t it,” Tharstan said thoughtfully. “Did the Greybeards give it to you, I wonder?”

“No,” Saviik sighed. “I awoke with no memory and my first act was saving Lucien here from some reavers. He wanted to know what to call me because he couldn’t keep calling me his saviour. I decided I didn’t mind being called that and so we settled on Saviik.”

“It does suit him!” Lucien volunteered. “He’s forever saving me from things.”

Bittersweet smile on Saviik’s face as he acknowledged the compliment.

“It was likely not always so but being the one to rescue people from peril has its appeal,” was all Saviik said. “Shall we move on?”

On to the other passage, and Lucien took Saviik aside, because frankly after a successful fight, he should be preening right now.

“Are you really all right,” Lucien whispered. And it must have been bad because Saviik shook his head.

“No,” Saviik said quietly. “Can you think of a good reason for that Draugr’s first words to me to be treacherous unpriest?”

“No, but… it’s a Draugr, Saviik. They’re not intelligent. It might have just been told to say that.”

“Unpriest is a very specific thing to call someone, Lucien,” Saviik said bitterly. “Ah, Lucien, I am starting to wish we had not taken this one.”

Lucien didn’t know what to say to that. So he settled for taking Saviik’s hands in his and squeezing them.

“Whatever else happens, I am having the most marvellous time with you,” Lucien said softly. “That won’t change.”

Saviik looked down at their hands, saying nothing and then he freed one hand and cupped Lucien’s cheek, staring at Lucien with sadness in his eyes.

“Kogaan,” Saviik said softly. “One word that means both thank you and blessing. You are both to me. Come, let us go. It would not do for Tharstan to walk into a Draugr nest.”

Saviik strode off after Tharstan, intimacy apparently over and Lucien had to wonder how he could just say things like that and not sound utterly ridiculous. If Lucien stared into someone’s eyes and called them a blessing from the Eight, he’d never be able to take himself seriously again. Saviik, on the other hand, could just come out with these things and sound utterly breathtakingly impressive.

Maybe being six foot five and built like a troll had something to do with it. Yes, that had to be it. If everyone was too scared to pick a fight or laugh at you, you might get used to all sorts of things. 

Tharstan was waiting for them at the entrance to a catacombs, and while there were Draugr, at least they didn’t seem to recognise Saviik. They still went for him though, at least until Lucien’s fire magic caught the attention of one of them, and then he was fighting for his life, sparring and casting, and then catching the blade of its axe on his pauldron, wincing at the pain… but Saviik’s lessons in how to withstand the blow, recover quickly and hit back before his opponent recovered weren’t a complete loss.

_They will strike you, thinking to cut you down. You will take the blow on the steel of your armour, stand firm, withstand the force and then you will hit back harder! You are the rock standing steady in the storm. Let them wreck their ships against you then drag them down._

All the fancy metaphors in the world could not make Lucien feel like a rock in the storm, but he did manage to tough his way through the pain and hit back with his own sword… and the blade struck true and the Draugr collapsed.

Was it Lucien or was this getting into fights and not dying thing getting easier?

Saviik had finished off the others and looked instinctively for Lucien, seeing him standing over a falling Draugr, and his face lit up.

“You got one!” Saviik laughed. “Well done, Lucien. You improve every day.”

He was surely exaggerating but Lucien felt himself smiling. Saviik looked for Tharstan then, and the three of them moved on to another puzzle. A central pillar, with three surrounding pillars, and a weapon near each one.

“Pah muz fen dir, fahtiid voth niin meyar zunne,” Saviik read, glancing at the pillars. “It cannot want more sacrifices?”

“No, no,” Tharstan said thoughtfully. “These look like Impact Stones. Hit them and they do… whatever they’re supposed to do. The trick is how. Hmm. All men must die, often by their own means…”

Hit the Impact Stones. Couldn’t be that hard, right? With their own means?

Hitting the nearest stone with his fist achieved nothing other than to make Saviik manage to smile, wince and then come over to heal his hand all at once.

“The plaque makes more sense if you translate literally,” Saviik told him, nodding at the one facing the sword. “Zunne means weapons. Hit that one with your sword.”

Lucien did and gasped as it turned on impact, and Saviik’s magic successfully triggered the one with the staff. And then there was the third with a bow and arrows handy.

Lucien’s aim was terrible. One didn’t even reach the pillar. One missed by miles. And the other bounced off the roof and nearly hit Tharstan.

“Maybe you should try,” Lucien whispered, and to his surprise Saviik looked nervous.

“This does not feel familiar,” Saviik muttered, and to Lucien’s astonishment, Saviik’s aim might actually be worse.

“But… you’re good at things!” Lucien gasped.

“Apparently not this!” Saviik snapped, firing off another arrow, and it was almost on target but didn’t quite hit hard enough. One string of what was probably swearing later, and Saviik threw the bow to the ground and deployed his Thu’um.

“GOL!”

The stone turned. The gate opened. And Saviik strode through, saying nothing to either of them until they were past the gate.

“Was that the Thu’um??” Tharstan cried, catching up, a little out of breath. “Goodness, it was, wasn’t it! You must have been a Greybeard! I had no idea the Thu’um could do that! Did you trick the stone into thinking it had been hit with an arrow?”

“Yes,” said Saviik shortly, not meeting anyone’s eyes, and it was almost a relief when the inevitable Draugr burst out of their coffins.

More Dovahzul battle cries, more of Saviik’s spells slicing through mummified flesh, and Lucien managed to take out one of the archers. It really was getting easier. Of course, it helped the Draugr were already dead.

The lead Draugr had another half-claw, which fit neatly with the other one. Saviik seemed nominally interested, but more so by the Word Wall, which Tharstan was studying.

“This is fascinating! More of this Vahlok’s story. He was a noble servant of the Dragons, who vanquished a traitor named Miraak. Miraak, goodness, him? The one who worshipped Hermaeus Mora and ended up in Apocrypha? This must be the tomb of the Dragon Priest who finally defeated him all those years ago.”

Lucien risked a look at Saviik, who was breathing heavier than normal, his eyes narrowed, and while Lucien wasn’t normally afraid of Saviik, who was normally cheerful, charming and friendly, right now he was none of those things.

Right now he looked every bit the monster Miraak had been.

“Saviik?” Lucien whispered, because when Saviik finally lost his temper, the explosion might just kill them all. “Saviik, it’s all right, the Dragon Cult’s long dead and they were bastards anyway.”

Silence from Saviik, who shook his head, took a deep breath… and then seemed to let it go.

“Yes. Yes they were,” Saviik said softly. “I should not let it get to me. I… who knows. Maybe the Greybeards did train me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Lucien said, patting his shoulder. Saviik didn’t look convinced, but he was no longer looking murderous, and they followed Tharstan back to the central chamber.

Just the central cage in the middle to look at, and Saviik peered at two circular imprints on either side of it that looked like half dragon claws. The amethyst half-claws fit perfectly and the cage door swung open. Inside was another pillar.

“Stay your course. To idle is to die,” Tharstan translated, and Saviik nodded in agreement. “Well, at least it’s straightforward. Shall we see what the switch does?”

Saviik turned it, and blinked to see glowing blue tiles appear.

“Interesting,” Saviik murmured. “These are stable but not for long. Let’s see…”

Lucien was quite happy to watch the Nordic madman leap from one to the next, seeming unfazed by the prospect the whole thing might disappear and drop him in the lake. But it didn’t and Saviik reached the other side… and once he’d made it, the tiles all appeared as a solid bridge.

“Come over!” Saviik called cheerfully. “It will be stable now!”

“Oh gods,” Lucien whispered but the bridge seemed to be holding and there was no other way, and Tharstan had already started the journey. That settled it. Lucien wasn’t being left behind by an old man.

The next chamber had more of these bridges, and the drop was a lot further down with possessed shades wandering around down there. The tiles were also progressively faster. Needless to say, Saviik didn’t even seem to care, almost dancing as he skipped from tile to tile, having the time of his life.

“I can’t believe you’re enjoying yourself!” Lucien gasped as he caught up to him after the next tile bridge.

“It is exciting!” Saviik laughed. “The risk of death is what makes it fun!”

Ah yes. Nords were insane. Lucien had been told that repeatedly back in Cyrodiil but dismissed it as a baseless racial stereotype. He really should have listened to, well, everyone.

But Saviik was skilled enough to keep up and finally he’d cleared the final bridge and waited laughing for them to catch up, face flushed, eyes bright, and despite the insanity, stunning. Absolutely stunning. Eight damn him.

“I should have let you do one!” Saviik gasped as Lucien ran to his arms. “Goraaniik, krosis! I kept all the excitement to myself?”

“Quite happy for you to do any and all of the dangerous things like that,” Lucien gasped, feeling horrified at the thought. “Absolutely no need to get me involved. None at all.”

Saviik patted him on the back and had a look around while they waited for Tharstan.

“Good heavens, is this a Hall of Stories? Look at the carvings! Thousands of years of history in these stones. Sadly too damaged to read. And a puzzle door! Normally you need a dragon claw and combination to open them but I don’t suppose that claw key you found had a combination.”

It did not, but Saviik had been looking at the inscriptions on the walls.

“These may be a clue. This one is all imagery of Kyne. This… this is Mara. And this panel is Akatosh Bormahu. Let me try…”

Saviik set the combination to hawk-wolf-dragon then effortlessly used the claw key to unlock the door, revealing the chamber beyond.

The chamber was a large oval one with a coffin at the far end, another Word Wall… and a dozen fire traps between them and the far end. 

“Stay here, I will pick my way over,” Saviik murmured to Lucien as he carefully picked his way over them, managing to not set any off. He’d got half way when the coffin lid flew off and a Dragon Priest levitated out of the coffin.

“ _TAHRODIIS MIRAAK!_ ” the priest howled. “ _LOST HI BO FAH VOREY TANZ?_ ”

“FAANI _SAVIIK!_ ” Saviik roared back and battle was on, lightning splitting the air in two while fire from Vahlok shot back at Saviik, who had his work cut out for him, warding Vahlok’s spells while avoiding the fire traps. And while Lucien knew Saviik could shout, Vahlok wasn’t, not at all.

“IIZ SLEN NUS!” Saviik roared, and ice caught Vahlok, stopping him in his tracks and causing him to crash to the water in the centre. 

Saviik leapt down, axe raised, and smashed it viciously to the ice, screaming and kicking at the downed Dragon Priest and following it up with magic for good measure until finally Vahlok collapsed into dust.

Saviik wordlessly poked at the remains, finding gold but not a lot else, and then he sat back in the water, silent. Lucien had no idea who to go to – Tharstan who was making for the Word Wall, or Saviik sitting wordlessly in the centre, victorious but sitting in defeat.

Lucien settled for standing near enough to Tharstan to listen to him studying the Word Wall, but close enough to Saviik to offer comfort if need be.

“How amazing! A real Dragon Priest!” Tharstan gasped. “I suppose that was Vahlok. He must have had this entire place built for him even after death, keeping his vigil beyond the grave. Yes, look, here on the Wall. Here lies the Guardian who gained much glory. For his eternal loyalty, he joined the dead with great honour.”

Behind Lucien, Saviik started to laugh, softly at first then roaring his head off, finding the entire situation hysterical.

“Saviik?” Lucien whispered. “Saviik, talk to me. Are you all right? Saviik?”

“Yes,” Saviik chuckled. “Yes, that is my name, niid? You gave it to me!”

Staggering to his feet, he grinned at Lucien before taking his hand and leading him through the water, lifting him to where the sarcophagus had been before climbing out himself.

“He defeated Miraak and his reward was to be killed and turned into a Draugr, to wait endlessly for Miraak’s return,” Saviik laughed, a wildness in his eyes that Lucien really didn’t like. “Such is the generosity of the Dov! Ha!”

“That… is certainly one way of putting it,” Tharstan said, watching Saviik very carefully. “You truly do seem to have an instinctive knowledge of the Dragon Cult, you know.”

“I have no memories of my past life and I am beginning to think it just as well,” Saviik said wearily. “Tharstan, I do not know if I can truly thank you for this, but this has been… an experience.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Tharstan said, frowning. “Where was it you said you woke up? Outside the Temple of Miraak?”

Saviik said nothing, just nodding.

“Well, my boy, one thing I can say for certain is that Miraak himself very definitely died,” Tharstan said firmly. “The Dragonborn killed him, took his very soul, and left the remains at the Temple. They say only the bones were left. Whoever you are, however many Draugr seem to think you’re him, you are not him. Can’t be, unless the gods brought you back.”

“I know Dovahzul and the Thu’um without knowing how I learned either, and Vahlok wanted to know if I’d come for another dance,” Saviik said wearily. “We came to the Skaal Village to see if any would recognise me, and the first one to do so is an ancient Draugr.”

Saviik lowered his head, looking despondent and depressed and Lucien felt for him, he truly did. Saviik shouldn’t look like that. Saviik should be his indomitable, fierce warrior-mage, fearlessly taking on the world! Saviik should not look that defeated.

“The ancient Nords were not all-knowing and even one such as Vahlok could be wrong,” Tharstan said firmly. “For all you know, you’re a bloodline descendant of the man who just happens to look like him. And as I said earlier, study of Dovahzul is a niche topic but there are scholars who’ve looked into it. You could be a former Greybeard or just a gifted scholar. All of which are more likely than Miraak coming back from the dead. Particularly as what you’ve done so far involves being a caring companion to a young man far from home, rescuing a humble smith from the Thalmor, who are not gentle captors by any means, and then giving up your valuable time escorting an old man round a tomb. None of which say power-hungry monster to me. Ah, talking of which! I promised you gold! And gold you shall have!”

One thousand septims, and that perked Saviik up considerably.

“Five hundred of this is yours,” Saviik told Lucien, and Lucien shook his head.

“Keep it,” Lucien said softly. “You did all the work.”

“Then I am buying you drinks _and_ dinner,” Saviik promised, arm round Lucien, resting his head against his. That led to the horrifying prospect of Saviik on the sujammas again and once more showering Lucien with affection.

“You don’t need to,” Lucien told him, already knowing it would be futile. He was right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner at the Retching Netch, and Saviik had been quiet. Not downing the sujammas, but ordering wine instead and drinking it slowly.

“Are you all right,” Lucien had to ask. “I know I’ve not known you long but this doesn’t seem like you.”

“Krosis,” Saviik sighed. “I am not good company, I know. I am… my mind is flying strange skies tonight.”

A Nord idiom – no. Likely a _Dovahzul_ idiom, which thrilled Lucien to bits. Even speaking Tamrielic, it seemed Saviik’s mind worked in Dovahzul. Especially when he was upset and fell back on literal translations. Like when he’d used unthink as a word. It probably was in Dovahzul.

“So tell me,” Lucien said quietly. “Do you still think you might be a reborn Miraak?”

“I know it is ridiculous,” Saviik sighed. “But for the life of me, I can think of no other explanation. And I am struggling with what that makes me. All seem to know my voice somehow but not my face. Because they never met me but they heard my voice while enslaved and building the shrines. Vahlok and his lieutenants though – they know me. I am convinced I am from Solstheim but no one knows me and the one population of my kin here are strangers. I somehow have learnt Dovahzul and the Thu’um, rare, niche areas of study… and I am not an academic, Lucien. I am a warrior. It all fits. And I fear it.”

Lucien could not blame him there. But he wasn’t going to entertain ideas of miraculous resurrection until he’d ruled out everything else first. That was decidedly not how science worked.

“You’re not a monster,” Lucien said firmly. “Whether or not you were Miraak once, and I have to say, that is not proven, you don’t have to be him again. You don’t have to be a power-mad Daedra-worshipper this time. You can be a better person this time! That’s if you even were Miraak. And we have to rule out all the other options before we can truly decide on that one, my friend. That is how academic research works! Not picking a story that fits the evidence and never questioning it. We question everything, Saviik. We look for the holes and we don’t stick with an explanation until we’ve patched them. And there’s quite a big hole in this one, namely Miraak was killed and his soul got devoured by the other Dragonborn. You could just be a scholar who went investigating the Miraak story, fell foul of his cultists and was left for dead for the cold to do the rest. That, my friend, is a damn sight more likely than that you used to be Miraak.”

Saviik had gone very quiet, and when he spoke, he sounded almost annoyed.

“You have a way of skewering my ego, don’t you, my Lucien.”

Lucien could feel himself going scarlet, not least because he definitely wasn’t Saviik’s Lucien. Except protesting that would probably just make Saviik more insistent.

“Someone needs to, you’d be unbearable otherwise,” Lucien returned and for a split-second he wondered if he’d gone too far as Saviik’s eyebrows shot up… and then Saviik burst out laughing, delighted.

“You are a delight,” Saviik said affectionately. “A delight who is getting the next round in. Get me one of the special sujammas please.”

“What happened to buying me drinks?” Lucien gasped, although secretly he was relieved that Saviik was smiling again.

“That was when I wished to spoil and indulge you,” Saviik purred. “Now perhaps the pendulum swings the other way and you need to win my favour back a little.”

Of all the… Lucien sighed and made the trip back to the bar. A sujamma each later, and Saviik seemed in quite the good mood.

“So. Exploring the other options. What do you suggest?” Saviik said calmly. “Who would know the truth?”

“Well, Tharstan said the Greybeards would know the Thu’um, so we could visit them and see if you ever trained there,” Lucien said, not liking the idea but he could think of no other ones. “But there is an option or three that don’t involve hiking up a giant mountain. Although one you won’t like and the other I don’t like.”

“Share the one you don’t like,” Saviik said, sitting back contentedly in his chair. “And the one neither day nor night.”

The neutral one, Lucien presumed. Saviik really did seem to do less translating after a drink or two.

“Well, the one I really don’t like is, well, talking to the Jarl of Windhelm. Who can also Shout and who used to be a Greybeard. He might know you from there. He’ll definitely be able to tell you if the Thu’um’s really all that hard to learn. The downside is that he’s the leader of a bunch of fanatical nationalist terrorists and he used his Thu’um to murder the High King. And I really don’t want to talk to him. But you might be all right, what with being all strong, tall and Nordic. Only he might try to conscript you for the Stormcloaks.”

“Then I shall demonstrate whose Thu’um is stronger,” Saviik said cheerfully. “When I have proved his Voice is no match for mine, perhaps I’ll take his Hold and his army for myself, hmm?”

From the way Saviik was grinning, Lucien began to wonder if perhaps he really had been Miraak before. But no. No, that was ridiculous. Focus, Lucien. Focus on what they did know.

“No,” Lucien said firmly. “We’re not taking the Stormcloaks over, Saviik. What would we even do with them anyway. They’re not going to just follow you if you then decide to rejoin the Empire!”

“And if I don’t?” Saviik asked, and Lucien flinched.

“I’m not committing treason, Saviik,” Lucien said softly. “Not even for you.”

Silence… and then Saviik’s hand covered Lucien’s and squeezed gently.

“Then we find another way,” Saviik said, voice dropping into that gentle tone that made Lucien just want to fall into his arms, even though he suspected that might be a bad idea. “Cyrodiil is your home, is it not? You wish Nord and Cyrod to live in peace, don’t you. I confess, I would like that too. So. We speak to Ulfric but do not get involved in the war, not on his side anyway. What was the other option?”

“Well, it’s seeming like you were a scholar of some sort, doing research,” Lucien said, feeling rather more at ease now Saviik was no longer thinking of taking over the Stormcloaks. “Chances are that means you were studying somewhere. Something brought you to Solstheim, and you would have had to do research to find out about it. Only two places in Skyrim you could have done that, my friend. The Bards’ College in Solitude or the College of Winterhold. I don’t know about your musical talent, but you’re a very, very skilled mage. I’m thinking Winterhold might be the next place to look. If someone there knows you, knows what you were studying… that could be the key.”

Saviik said nothing, but then nodded.

“It is not exactly an exciting option but it is possible,” Saviik grudgingly admitted. “This Winterhold place, you said it is an academic centre of magical research?”

“It’s about the only decent place to learn magic in all Skyrim,” Lucien said proudly. “Well worth a look, or so they tell me. It’d be worth going to see on its own.”

“Then we shall investigate,” Saviik promised. “What was the other option? The one you said I would not like?”

“Ah,” Lucien said awkwardly. “Well, there is someone who would definitely know if you were Miraak or not. And… hate to say it, but she might be the last resort option.”

“She?” Saviik said, frowning. “Who is she?”

“Melinda Storm-Heart,” Lucien said softly. “The other Dragonborn. She fought Miraak and killed him. She’d know if you were him.”

“What,” was all Saviik said, eyes boring into Lucien’s.

“I did say you wouldn’t like it!” Lucien said quickly. “But it’s a last resort if nothing else pans out.”

“Last resort – Lucien, she killed me!” Saviik hissed. “Or may have done. If she finds I am up and walking around, she might decide to finish the job! I… no. No, we’re not seeking her out. We avoid her at all costs. Where does she live?”

Lucien wasn’t entirely sure himself.

“She travels all over Skyrim,” Lucien said, trying to remember what he’d heard. “But she’s known for being the Harbinger of the Companions. They’re based in Whiterun.”

“Then we don’t go to that city and if we do, we keep a low profile,” Saviik said firmly. “We are not seeking out the Dragonborn, Lucien. I mean it.”

Lucien couldn’t blame him for that.

“We’ve got a lot of other places to look before she’s an option, my friend,” Lucien told him, hoping he sounded reassuring. “And if a dragon attacks, if you don’t take its soul after killing it, you aren’t even Dragonborn. I really hope a dragon doesn’t attack.”

Saviik did laugh at that, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

“Niid faas, fahdoni. I will protect you.”

Saviik’s confidence was catching, or at least very very persuadable. Lucien smiled and nestled in a bit closer. He really wouldn’t mind seeing a dragon close up. A dead one anyway. He wouldn’t even mind watching Saviik kill one from a distance. Saviik could probably do it too. Saviik, even if he wasn’t the First Dragonborn, had to be one of the most skilled fighters Lucien had ever seen.

This wasn’t the adventure Lucien had planned. But it was everything he’d hoped for.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I made it to Solstheim!_

_I nearly didn’t make it off Solstheim. But it’s all right! I ran into trouble with some reavers, but I made a new friend and he saved me!_

_He’s a Nord wizard and he’s called… we’re not sure what he’s called. He woke up left for dead with no clothes and no memories, but he saw me in trouble and helped. We’ve picked on Saviik as a name and he offered to help keep me safe on the road. So of course I said yes because he’s kind and goodnatured and really good at fighting! He’s teaching me how to do a better job of it in case he’s not there in future. But he’s not going anywhere. He has no idea who he is or where he came from. I’m the only person he knows._

_We’re going to change that, of course. We’re going to find out who he is and if he’s got a family anywhere. I can’t believe he was single, he’s tall, blonde, handsome, confident, pretty eyes and the most amazing smile! I’m near certain he had someone before but he’s not so sure. He thinks he might have been lonely a lot._

_Well. We’re going to find out, and we don’t think the answers are on Solstheim. We think he might have been studying the Dragon Cult. He can read the Dragon Language and even speaks it quite well, so it’s off in search of dragon lore we go. We’re going to the College of Winterhold to see if he was studying there. We might even enrol there even if he wasn’t. Not that he needs to learn anything but I know I do._

_I have had to park going to Dumzbthar for a bit. It’s not going anywhere, is it? But Saviik’s here and needs help, and I get a bodyguard! And a friend. I’m not used to having friends. Not close friends anyway. But I think I made one. I can ramble on about anything and he just listens and smiles. He’s not even pretending! I think he genuinely does care. I’m not used to that._

_I gave him the resonant sphere you gave me. So we could always find each other. He looked touched beyond words and then he hugged me. He does that a lot. It’s a Nordic thing, I’m sure but he’s very fond of physical affection. I should tell him to stop but it’s nice, you know?_

_Anyway, we’re off to the mainland and I’m writing this on the boat. I’ll find a courier in Windhelm. Ugh, Windhelm. Horrible place. But with Saviik this time, I’m sure no one will give me any trouble._

_Love you both!  
Lucien_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Melinda knelt by the pit, fingers running over the not yet frozen solid earth as if it would change, as if Miraak’s bones were lurking just under the surface where she’d left them.

“It will not change, my Harbinger,” Cicero sighed, shivering despite the fur lining of the fine stalhrim armour that had once been Harknir Deathbrand’s. “That is the grave we dug but it is empty. Miraak’s bones are not there.”

Melinda shook her head, unwilling to admit the truth even to Cicero.

“Necromancers,” Melinda said softly. “Did they think the bones of the First Dragonborn might be worth something or did they just see an unhallowed skeleton and take advantage? I knew we should have taken him back to Whiterun for burial.”

“We could not have carried an entire Nord’s skeleton all that way,” Cicero sighed. “You know this. I know this. It was also not necromancers. Or beasts. He was not dug out of here, the earth exploded outwards. Almost as if he dug his own way out, except more forcefully.”

Melinda looked at the earth patterns and gods damn it. Cicero wasn’t wrong. She shivered uncontrollably, suddenly feeling sorry for Miraak. Had he woken buried alive, naked and alone? Not even he deserved that.

“There’s a trail,” Melinda said, getting up and looking north-east. “Let’s go.”

The trail led almost to the lake, scent of a human male, Nord like her, a decade or so older perhaps, and something like magicka about it. It smelt like Miraak… but the eldritch scent of Hermaeus Mora wasn’t there any more. Nothing Daedric about this, no.

More scents here. The remains of a hastily assembled fire. A dead Dunmer, stripped of his belongings – a reaver maybe? Scent of another one fleeing into the distance, and… another human scent. Young, male, a little like Cicero – an Imperial maybe?

These two scents, the draconic, Nordic older male and the young Cyrodiil man, lingered longest, and the two seemed to lead off back towards Raven Rock. Gods damn it, they’d just come from there.

“Back to Raven Rock,” Melinda sighed. “If they’re still there. I mean, Gjalund wasn’t in port until we got here so…”

“Gjalund dropped us off last night, Gjalund has been there all day, if they offered him coin he could be on the next tide,” Cicero said tersely, kicking at the snow. “They may be gone when we return. And it is worse than you know. Cicero knows the scent of the other one. Miraak’s new companion.”

“You do?” Melinda asked, surprised. “Where on Nirn from??”

“His name is Lucien Flavius,” Cicero said wearily. “He was in Falkreath while Cicero lived there. He is a scholar from Cyrodiil. Young. Naive. Eager to please. He would chat to poor Cicero and buy him drinks but an offer of bedtime company never materialised once! Tease.”

Melinda closed her eyes and got up, Cicero’s bisexuality ever a mystery to her.

“He can’t help being straight, Cicero,” Melinda sighed.

“He wasn’t looking at the women either!” Cicero cried. “Narri tried her hardest. She really truly did. I can very much attest to the effort involved. He barely seemed to notice! Just wanted to know wasn’t she cold in that outfit. How, how, can you be twenty one years old and not notice a pretty Nord’s cleavage??”

“Maybe not everyone is as sex-obsessed as you, Cicero,” Melinda said, taking Cicero’s arm and leading him off. “Never mind his sexual preferences. Why might he be in Solstheim? It’s a long way from Falkreath.”

“Falkreath wasn’t his final destination,” Cicero sighed. “He was on some grand adventure, or so he said. Cicero personally thought he was going to end up dead in a ditch. Did you know he asked if he could accompany me?? Said Skyrim was too dangerous to travel alone. I declined, of course. Cicero works _alone._ ”

Not entirely true, he always had time for Melinda. But Cicero’s methods lent themselves to stealth and subtlety and not being trailed by well-meaning but less skilled allies.

“And now he’s gone off with Miraak,” Melinda said bitterly. “That poor boy.”

“Sweetling,” Cicero said softly, sidling up to her and wrapping arms round her neck. “We do not _know_ Miraak is back from the dead. All we know is his soul is gone somehow, and his grave empty. It… alright, Cicero cannot think of many explanations but he’s sure there is one.”

“But worst case scenario is the First Dragonborn’s back and has this innocent young man in his clutches,” Melinda whispered. “We’ve got to help him.”

Cicero was not a good person, but he saw little to disagree with here.

“Yes, of course we will, beloved,” Cicero soothed, arms round her neck. “Sweetling, will you leave this to me? At least initially? Cicero believes he has an idea.”

“What sort of idea,” Melinda said, frowning. “I don’t know if I like the idea of you just stabbing him in his sleep.”

“I have no intention of stabbing him,” Cicero purred, telling the truth for once and surprising even himself. “But Lucien is known to me. We are both children of Cyrodiil, far from home in a strange land, surrounded by uncouth Nords, sorry sweetling.”

“Say on,” Melinda said, only pursing her lips a little.

“So Cicero tracks them down, makes their acquaintance, greets Lucien like an old friend and offers to travel with them,” Cicero said, grinning. “Cicero finds out what is going on, and offers the young man a source of assistance. Someone to talk to other than the First Dragonborn.”

That could work. That would certainly help Lucien if nothing else. And while Miraak would certainly recognise her, chances were he’d not think twice about Cicero. Cicero had been one thrall among many… although admittedly that he’d kept on touching the Stones and enthralling himself so he could keep on hearing Miraak’s sexy, sexy voice might possibly have got the First Dragonborn’s attention. It was a risk they’d have to take.

“All right,” Melinda said softly. “I’ll go back to Severin Manor. You see if you can find them in Raven Rock, offer to accompany them. At the very least you can get an impression of what’s going on.”

Cicero certainly could. Back to Raven Rock then, and at the edge of the town, Melinda kissed Cicero for all she was worth then let him go, watching as he slipped away into the shadows. She knew he was trained for this, knew he was skilled at infiltration and subterfuge. But all the same, she worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the Dovahzul:
> 
> Tahrodiis vosonaak, zu’u fen vaaz hin sil! - Treacherous unpriest, I will rip your heart out!
> 
> Tahrodiis Miraak! Lost hi bo fah vorey tanz? - Miraak, you traitor! Are you here for another dance?
> 
> Faani Saviik! - My name is Saviik!
> 
> It is very much time for Lucien to start interacting with people other than Miraak again, although I'm not sure Cicero is going to do anything but make him cling to his saviour harder, lol. Still, they need a rogue. Having to resort to the equivalent of console commands because neither of our heroes can shoot straight with a bow was just embarrassing.


	4. The Trouble with Windhelm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Windhelm has never been Lucien's favourite city but with a big Nord protector by his side, he'll be fine, right? Until trouble drags Saviik from his side and Lucien's alone in a hostile city with no one looking out for him... or are they? An unexpected offer of help is just what he needs, but it puts him in the path of an old acquaintance who he might just regret re-encountering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Lucien canonically hates Windhelm, and while my Miraak did visit the place as a Dragon Priest, he remembers nothing of it. Meaning this place has got to work to impress them, and it's not doing a brilliant job. But you do get to see Miraak meeting Ulfric! It goes... poorly.

Windhelm. As horrifying as Lucien remembered. Cold. Icy. Both the weather and the people. Subdued Argonians loading and unloading cargo. Dunmer in the city with their heads low and avoiding eye contact. And a tavern that not only did not serve sujammas, but the tavernkeeper sneered at Saviik for wanting one.

“What’s a true Nord like you want with those Dunmer drinks anyway,” Elda Early-Dawn snapped. “Cornerclub has that sort of thing. If you can bear to drink there.”

“Told you,” Lucien whispered. “This place is horrible. I told you they hated everyone who isn’t a Nord here.”

Saviik put an arm round him, mutinously settled for some Honningbrew instead and got Lucien some wine.

“They will not harm you,” Saviik murmured. “Not while I am here.”

Lucien nestled closer, not entirely reassured. The whole city was like this. Even Saviik couldn’t fight an entire city! And the scariest thing was, Lucien could not put it past Saviik to try.

_Don’t do it, my friend. Don’t put yourself at risk for me, it isn’t worth it._

All the same, Saviik rubbing his back felt nice. And so time passed, their dinner came and went, and eventually Saviik went in search of the privies. Leaving Lucien alone in the middle of Windhelm.

This was fine. This was just fine. He’d just sit here, say nothing to anyone, sip his wine and…

“Hey. You. Imperial.”

Oh gods. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods.

“Er… did you want something, sir?” Lucien asked, staring up at the angry Nord staring down at him. Not built like Saviik admittedly, and wearing ordinary clothes rather than armour, but still taller and broader than Lucien.

“Yeah. You an Imperial spy?”

“What?? No!” Lucien spluttered. “I’m just travelling through!”

“Yeah?” the Nord sneered. “Well, I got news for you. Your kind aren’t welcome here. This is a city for Nords. True Nords. So get your things together, rich Imperial. Take your money and your spying eyes elsewhere.”

“What?? I’ve paid for a room!” Lucien protested. But a glance at the innkeeper showed she really didn’t care. Oh gods. Lucien could really do with Saviik at his side right now.

He was one Nord, right? Lucien could deal with one Nord, right?

“Tough, I’m not going,” Lucien said stubbornly. “Please go bother someone else.”

Alcohol on the Nord’s breath as he leaned in closer.

“You want a fight, Imperial? Fine,” the Nord growled, grabbing Lucien by the shirt.

Oh gods, this was bad, this was bad, this was very bad and all Saviik’s lessons on how to take a hit flew right out of his head.

“Can’t we – can’t we talk about this?” Lucien stammered, even as the Nord’s fist went back to strike.

“PUT HIM DOWN!”

Saviik, and the reverberation in his voice that normally just caressed his words and gave only Lucien thrills was unleashed in full, and the entire tavern _shook._

Lucien found himself dropped unceremoniously on the floor as the Nord turned to stare at this new threat. Six foot five of heavily armoured behemoth, advancing with fury on his face and magicka fairly buzzing around the room.

“I SEE ONE HAND LAID ON THIS MAN AGAIN AND I SHALL REMOVE IT, JOOR!” Saviik roared at him.

“You…” the Nord swallowed unconvincingly. “You don’t scare me!”

“So you’re a fool as well as a braggart, good to know,” Saviik snapped scornfully. “Leave this tavern. Now.”

The Nord had the sense to look nervous at this point.

“Look, how much is he paying you, sellsword? I’ll pay you twice that to look the other way.”

“I am NOT a sellsword!” Saviik roared, going for his axe. “I am a man of honour and it demands _satisfaction._ ”

“Now, now wait a second,” the Nord cried. “I’m the Jarl’s housecarl’s brother! I have connections!”

“I DON’T CARE WHOSE BROTHER YOU ARE!” Saviik roared, finally snapping. “FUS RO DAH!”

The Nord was sent flying into the wall, and Saviik advanced, axe at the ready, and a murder would have been done in that instant if screaming hadn’t started in the tavern and the guards burst in.

“Drop your weapon!” the lead guard cried. Saviik saw the weapons pointed at him, estimated all the likely ways this could go, sighed and put his axe away, magicka reigning itself in as he stood back and yielded.

“He was going to harm my chosen,” Saviik said, still not willing to admit he’d been anything other than justified. “I could not let that stand!”

“Be that as it may, he’s the housecarl’s brother,” the guard said, not without sympathy. “Sir, you’re going to have to come with us. Jarl will want to know about this.”

“Saviik!” Lucien cried, appalled. “Saviik, please, normally paying a bounty’s enough, we’ve got coin, no one died!”

“Leave it, Lucien,” Saviik said, not meeting his eyes. “We wished an audience, did we not? Niid faas, fahdoni. I will see you again soon enough.”

“Saviik,” Lucien whispered, feeling his heart sink as they took Saviik away. They couldn’t arrest his Saviik! Saviik wasn’t a criminal. Stupidly overprotective, yes, but not a bad person! And… and now Lucien was alone. In a hostile city where no one liked him.

“Excuse me.”

Not a Nordic voice. That was a Hammerfell accent, that one. Lucien turned and gasped to see a Redguard woman with steel armour, scimitars and headwear straight out of the Alik’r watching him with interest.

“I couldn’t help but overhear that whole thing,” she said, looking him over. “Did I really hear your… is he your bodyguard? Or more?”

“He’s my friend,” Lucien whispered, although that didn’t even begin to sum it up. “He’s not a bad person! He’s just ridiculously loyal and stupidly overprotective.”

“Nothing wrong with protecting your loved ones,” the woman said sympathetically. “My name is Rayya. I have the honour to be housecarl to Thane Cicero of Falkreath. He has a residence in this city. He’s not presently here so there’s a bed going spare. Would you like to stay with us for now? I think you will be safer there than the inn.”

She was probably right, wasn’t she. So Lucien accepted the offer, grabbed all their things and followed her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They hauled Saviik through the city, into the vast palace at the far end, the Palace of the Kings, and Saviik realised he knew this place. Tamriel’s oldest human city, Lucien had told him. Thousands of years old. Found by Ysgramor, the Atmoran who’d come over with the Five Hundred Companions and settled Skyrim.

Saviik idly wondered if the First Dragonborn ever came here. He might have done. He truly might.

Or maybe Lucien was right and he was just a scholar whose research had brought him to Windhelm before going to Solstheim. Well. He was about to find out.

They brought him into the Great Hall, and it wasn’t long before the Jarl emerged. Fifty something. Battle scars. Built like Saviik and likely almost as tall. Rumoured to also wield the Thu’um. He settled into the high seat and regarded Saviik with interest.

“So. I am told you assaulted a man in the tavern. My housecarl’s brother.”

Something about the voice. Something like Saviik’s own. Same resonance… but a lot less so. This man did know the Thu’um.

“So I did,” Saviik purred, letting his own voice’s power throb out. “Is a tavern fight in Skyrim so unusual? He insulted my friend. Would have hurt him. Honour compelled me to intervene.”

Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak heard the resonance. Heard an accent he swore he knew. Heard a way of talking he’d not heard since leaving High Hrothgar. Realised this was no mere mercenary.

“I’m not questioning your honour,” Ulfric said, frowning. “I am questioning your Thu’um. Few know that in these days. None but the Greybeards kept knowledge of the Voice. And the Dov, but none expected them to return. Are you a Greybeard? You must have joined after I left.”

So they’d never met. That was disappointing… but not if he really was Diist Dovahkiin.

“I don’t recall,” Saviik shrugged. “There was an incident. I was robbed of my memories and awoke penniless on Solstheim. My travelling companion was the one who helped me. I am honour-bound to protect him. He is no threat to you, Jarl Ulfric.”

Ulfric glanced at the guards for an explanation.

“He’s travelling with an Imperial, sir. He’s still in the tavern. Did you want him bringing in?”

“No,” Ulfric said dismissively. “What do I care about one Imperial. They are no threat to me. No, I want to know more of the abilities of this mysterious Thu’um-wielder you’ve brought me.”

“You are not the only one,” Saviik said, amused. “I know the Thu’um but not how I learned it. I came here hoping for tinvaak with a fellow master. Do I have that pleasure?”

“Shut your mouth,” another Nord snapped, bearing a strong resemblance to the one who’d assaulted Lucien. That must be the housecarl. “You’re talking to the true High King.”

“Because you killed the last one,” Saviik recalled. “What Shout did you use?”

Ulfric sat up, motioning for his housecarl to stand down, and despite everything, Saviik could tell he was interested. As if he’d been dying to brag about his abilities to someone.

“Unrelenting Force,” Ulfric said, sounding rather proud of himself. “My Voice laid him prone, but it wasn’t that which killed him. My sword did that.”

 _He really can Shout!_ Saviik shouldn’t feel so excited at that, but he did.

“What others do you know?” Saviik had to ask, wanting to compare notes now. How many did he know? Dragon Aspect. Dismay. Disarm. The malevolent one he’d used on that stone in Vahlok’s tomb. Others. Many others.

“I can also shout the blade from your hand,” Ulfric said, glancing down at Saviik’s axe. “And will do so if you draw yours in my court.”

That would not help Ulfric as much as he thought. Saviik said nothing though, waiting for the rest of the list. It was not forthcoming.

“Is that… all?” Saviik had to ask. Ulfric shifted awkwardly.

“I was with the Greybeards seven years. It takes a long time to learn even one full Shout. The dragons could do it rather more instinctively, as can their Dragonborn kin. War cut my training short. I was not permitted to return. Still. It is two more Shouts than any mortal but Kriid-se-Alduin knows.”

Slayer of Alduin. The other Dovahkiin. Well, stood to reason she’d be skilled. He wondered how many shouts she knew.

Rather more than Ulfric, he’d wager.

“So a man who found he knew many, that man would be a rarity indeed,” Saviik murmured, seeing the scales tilt dramatically in the Diist Dovahkiin direction.

“Indeed,” Ulfric said, leaning forward hungrily. “An unknown stranger with knowledge of even one is unusual. And you did not answer my question, stranger with a Dovah’s name. Saviik means saviour, does it not? Who are you here to save? Skyrim could use your talents, kinsman. The Dovahkiin refuses to join us, despite being an honourable warrior. She does not back the Empire either, despite her Imperial… friend. Join me and perhaps we could save our homeland together. Do what Laat Dovahkiin will not.”

Saviik closed his eyes, seeing Lucien’s face and him firmly saying he wasn’t committing treason. Not even for Saviik. 

Saviik had no intention of asking him to. Not for a man who knew all of two Thu’ums.

“Krosis, Ulfric Ziin-Thu’umme,” Saviik purred, smiling. “But I am a Solstheimer. And I could not care less about Talos. GOL HAH!”

It would not last without magical amplification, but Saviik didn’t need it to. Just long enough to secure a route out of here.

“I may leave?” Saviik said, still smiling. And Ulfric, confused, nodded.

“Yes. Go. Cease wasting my time.”

“I will have no further trouble from your guards?” Saviik asked and Ulfric nodded.

“No, no. Just abide by the law and no more fighting my people.”

“Lucien will come to no harm,” Saviik pressed, foreseeing harm to him if they couldn’t get Saviik.

“He will remain unharmed,” Ulfric said, rubbing his forehead as if in possession of a headache. “Now go. Leave me be.”

A sign it was wearing off. Saviik needed to be out of sight before that happened. Smirking at the guards, Saviik stepped away.

“I will do so,” Saviik promised, picking up the pace as he made to leave. The guards were all watching suspiciously, and when Ulfric realised what had happened, those orders might get revoked. He needed to leave the city. Now.

It tore at his conscience leaving Lucien behind. But it would waste valuable time retrieving him. He did have that sphere though. Reaching into his pocket, he flipped the switch and set it vibrating as he reached the city gates. Next stop had been the College, right? He’d try to find the place… and hoped Lucien could find him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rayya’s home had turned out to be a small house, tucked away down a narrow causeway, mostly sitting on an arch over the passage. Surprisingly cozy inside, with Rayya’s sleeping area over the door, a trapdoor over the column on the other side of the passageway that led to a bath and privy, a ladder at the far end leading to a loft bed that was Thane Cicero’s bed when he was in the city, the kitchen and dining area in the centre… and a side wing containing a children’s bedroom, with two of them apparently still awake and watching.

Neither were Redguard. One a ten year old Imperial boy with dark hair and eyes, and one a younger Nord girl.

“You two are supposed to be in bed,” Rayya scolded. The children both turned sad eyes on her.

“Who’s that?” the girl asked. 

“Is he your boyfriend?” the boy asked, and Rayya’s look could have killed.

“No,” Rayya said pointedly. “He’s a guest. His name is Lucien and he ran into trouble with Rolff Stone-Fist.”

Both children immediately looked sympathetic. 

“He never bought any flowers,” the girl scowled. “He said flowers were for milk-drinkers.”

“He says Skyrim’s just for Nords,” the boy said bitterly. “He said good riddance when my mother died.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Lucien said, feeling for the pair of them. “He tried to beat me up. My friend put a stop to that… but they arrested him. Rayya decided to bring me back here in case of trouble. Hello! I’m Lucien. Are you Thane Cicero’s children?”

“We’re his fosterlings!” the girl said proudly. “I’m Sofie and this is Aventus. Our parents died. This is Aventus’s old house. He was living here on his own after his mother died. Cicero found out and sent Rayya to live here, and did up the house!”

“No he didn’t, he sat around going on about how feeble he was while Lydia, Rayya and Farkas did all the work,” Aventus said, laughing. “But they did a good job, it’s so much nicer now! I wish Ma could see it.”

Aventus’s face fell at this, and Rayya patted them both on the shoulder.

“Bedtime, little ones,” Rayya said firmly. “We can talk more in the morning. In the meantime, I need to make sure our guest knows where everything is.”

The children said goodnight and went back to bed, and Rayya helped Lucien get all his things up to the loft.

“Are you sure this is all right,” Lucien whispered, feeling pathetically grateful. Rayya just smiled.

“Yes. It’s fine. I’m sorry about your friend but he’ll be fine. Ulfric does executions in public, he should be all right tonight. And he doesn’t use torture either. The guards can get a little rough with prisoners but they usually leave Nords in peace. We’ll go to the Palace in the morning and find out what the situation is. Also we’re expecting Thane Cicero back soon. He’s not Thane here, but his liege is one of Ulfric’s supporters. Ulfric will have to at least listen.”

Lucien remembered Thane Cicero from his own Falkreath days. Friends with half the town, solver of problems, fetcher of things from dangerous caverns, saved Valdr’s life, apparently managed to remain Thane even after Jarl Siddgeir’s brutal murder (they never did find the killer), would have been Lucien’s first choice for a travelling companion. An odd man but friendly, and once when a dragon had attacked the town, had grabbed his bow and run out of the tavern squealing… and been the one to kill the thing. Ferociously bloody brave, clearly resourceful… and had found a home for two orphans with the Falkreath housecarl Jarl Dengeir gave him to keep an eye on them. How legal this particular arrangement was was anyone’s guess, but Lucien supposed the house was Aventus’s, even if he couldn’t live on his own. Cicero getting his housecarl to be the required adult supervision was quite bright of him, although it did make him down a bodyguard.

Perhaps Thane Cicero who worked alone didn’t really need one.

It didn’t matter. Tonight at least, Lucien was safe. He could only hope Saviik was the same.

Falling asleep in seconds, he missed the vibrating resonant sphere in his pack.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Lucien awoke to daylight streaming in through the windows and a trilling cry of “CHIIIIILLLDDDREEEENNNNNNN!!!!! Where are my lovely CHIIIIILLLLLLDDDREEENNNNN???”

Lucien promptly pulled the blankets over his head, blocking out the next snatch of conversation which was most joyful squealing then Sofie asking something in a slightly quieter voice, and Lucien poked his head out just in time to hear the end of Cicero’s answer which was “… gone to Whiterun, children, she had important business and could not stay.”

Disappointed faces all round and then a little huddle, and then Rayya was saying something to the newly arrived Thane of Falkreath.

“Reeeaaally?” Cicero cooed and next thing Lucien knew, the weight of a five foot eight Imperial male had landed on the bed next to him, draped alongside him and _cooing._

“Hello, Master Flavius,” Cicero purred. “These are not the circumstances Cicero had hoped to find you in his bed, but he’s not _complaining._ Oh _no!_ ”

Lucien had never wanted Saviik there more in his life.

“Oh gods,” Lucien yelped, sitting up. “I’m sorry! I’ll leave! I’ll be on my way and…!”

Cicero glanced down and saw the Legion-themed pyjamas and actually squeaked.

“I used to have a set of those! When I was a boy! Mama got them for me! Only they didn’t really fit by the time I was thirteen and then…”

Cicero stopped, smile fading and he looked away, as if troubled by a horrible memory. An expression much like his mother got when talking about the war and remembering something she’d rather not. Come to think of it, virtually everyone over thirty got that look thinking about the war. Lucien didn’t like to ask what Cicero’s war memories were. He wasn’t old enough to have possibly fought in it.

Cicero finally looked up, serious for once.

“Lucien Flavius is in trouble, isn’t he. And alone. Cicero heard of a… travelling companion. He is not here?”

“No,” Lucien whispered, thinking of poor Saviik, locked up in a cell somewhere. “He got arrested! He was saving me from being harassed by some Nord who thought I was an Imperial spy. He does that. Saves me. It’s why we came up with Saviik as a name. He doesn’t remember his real one. We were trying to find out who he was.”

“He doesn’t _remember?_ ” Cicero said, eyebrows shooting up. “I think Lucien needs to tell me everything. How did you meet?”

So Lucien explained how he’d gone to Solstheim looking for Dumzbthar the Dwemer ruin, paid what he thought were sellswords to accompany him there, only for them to lead him astray in the wilderness and try to rob him. And how he might have died there and then had this naked Nord warrior-mage not stormed into view, slaughtered the chief, used the Thu’um to scare off the other one, stripped the lead reaver of his gear without even blinking then given Lucien his coinpurse back and wanted to know if he was all right.

It turned out he had no idea of who he really was, only that someone had left him for dead outside the old temple with no possessions. So they’d settled on Saviik as a name and gone exploring, Lucien forgoing his original plan to find out more about his new friend instead.

“We’re still none the wiser,” Lucien finally concluded. “I think he was a former Greybeard turned Dragon Cult scholar who was studying at Winterhold then came to Solstheim to do field research and ran afoul of reavers like I did. Powerful reavers who caught him by surprise. But… Frea told us the story of the First Dragonborn. Miraak. Now he’s dead. Very definitely dead. But… could he have come back somehow?? Saviik speaks and reads fluent Dovahzul, seems to know it better than the Skaal’s scholar Tharstan, who spent his life studying it. Saviik knows the Thu’um, really knows it. And when we were investigating Vahlok’s tomb, the Draugr there seemed to know him, seemed to think he was Miraak. Saviik is starting to wonder too. I mean, it’s ridiculous but… anyway. We were hoping to ask Jarl Ulfric if he knew Saviik from when he was a Greybeard, and how easy is the Thu’um to learn anyway?”

“Not easy at all if you are neither Dov nor Dovahkiin,” Cicero said, face a mask. “Cicero has been trying to learn how to breathe fire for months. It does not come easy. How many Shouts does he know exactly?”

Lucien counted on his fingers.

“At least five, but he must have been learning for years, right?”

Cicero said nothing, just blinking, and then he slid off the bed.

“Lucien must stay here for now. Cicero will investigate, make sure there is no bounty on your head at least. Children? Children! Come here, my sweetlings, I have extra pocket money and an important job. I need you to ask at the tavern, ask if it’s true a Greybeard was staying there. A Nord called Saviik got in a tavern fight, used the Thu’um and got arrested. Cicero wishes to know what happened to him. He may have been released and be staying there still. Or he may be in prison. If he is at the tavern or somewhere else in Windhelm, one of you is to watch him, the other to come find me. If in prison, or left the city, bring that news to me too. Cicero is happy for you to talk to him in public but do not go anywhere in private with him.”

Both children took the offered coin and ran for their winter coats, excitedly promising Cicero not to worry, they’d find out for him!

“Did you just… ask your children to go spying for you?” Lucien said in disbelief.

“Yes!” Cicero squealed. “Children are so very useful as information gatherers, you know, no one gets suspicious when they ask questions, they are naturally stealthy, and adults will often say things around them they would not say to others. So yes, Cicero makes use of that. Now, Lucien should bathe and have breakfast and make himself at home. Cicero will return with news. Do NOT go anywhere.”

Cicero left the house, and Lucien sat back, wondering what just happened, and just what Thane Cicero had done for a living back in Cyrodiil that had him organising all this without even thinking. Somehow, he didn’t want to know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

First port of call, Palace of the Kings to check the bounty book. Jorlief as always was tremendously helpful and happy to share the bounty list. Lucien’s name not there, thankfully. But Saviik’s was. At large. Reward, negotiable. Crime… misuse of the Thu’um.

Cicero could only imagine what a reborn Miraak might have decided to do with the Thu’um. But he wasn’t here. Interesting.

“This one,” Cicero said, pointing at it. “Misuse of the Thu’um. That is not a crime, is it?? Did the Dragonborn do something untoward? Cicero has not heard this. Dragonborn is very law-abiding. In fact the only one in Skyrim who is accused of misusing the Thu’um is Jarl Ulfric himself.”

Jorlief was looking rather nervous and it had gone ominously quiet, and something behind Cicero was blocking the light. A six foot four something with big shoulders and big everything else, most likely.

“Not that Cicero believes or supports these slanderous accusations in any way,” Cicero added hastily. “Only Cicero’s travels take him to Imperial Holds on a regular basis and he hears things, you see.”

“I do indeed see,” Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak’s voice rumbled from behind him, amused. “And I see you noticed that one. Thane Cicero, would you care to step into the war room? I believe this job may suit you.”

Well, it was certainly one source of information. So Cicero followed.

Ulfric dismissed everyone else, including a protesting Galmar, and firmly closed the door behind him, before taking a seat, indicating for Cicero to do likewise and even offering him a mead. Which Cicero accepted and sipped quietly.

“So if Melinda is not implicated, how is it another knows the Thu’um?” Cicero asked, frowning. “Cicero has heard it is not easy to learn if you do not have the Dragon Blood.”

“It is not,” Ulfric sighed, looking weary and almost defeated. “In truth, writing to your Harbinger for her assistance was on my list today, but you are here instead. Thank Talos.”

“Indeed,” Cicero said softly. His mother and uncle had both worshipped Talos after all. He had no axe to grind there. “Jarl, what is wrong? This is not like you.”

“What is… what is wrong?? I am unlike myself?? Yes, that is it, isn’t it,” Ulfric said bitterly. “I was very much unlike myself and that bastard walked free. He is no Greybeard. He was seen arriving off the boat from Solstheim with that Imperial, and no one knows who he is or has seen him before. And yet I know a Master of the Voice when I hear one. I asked if he’d join the Stormcloaks. He refused. Then he Shouted and… I remember nothing else until Galmar was shaking my arm. Saviik was gone. He’d somehow got me to release him and allow him to leave and to refrain from harming the Flavius boy. In front of my men. I… cannot go back on my sworn word of honour, but if it were given under duress… agh. I cannot admit how easily he bested me. But I can find out who he really is and what his true purpose is. Saviik is almost certainly not his real name. It is Dovahzul for Saviour.”

Cicero listened to all this in silence and realised their worst fears were true. Miraak was back and had Bend Willed his way out of an awkward situation and fled the city.

Cicero told himself not to laugh. It definitely Wasn’t Funny and he definitely Shouldn’t Laugh. All the same though, he found himself not judging Miraak too harshly for this. He’d used it to escape, not take over the whole of Windhelm. Interesting. Perhaps he truly didn’t remember who he was… but he still retained the Thu’um.

That made him dangerous, but danger alone wasn’t a reason for Cicero to stab someone.

“You wish me to find him?” Cicero asked, folding his hands.

“Find, yes, but if he is truly a Master of the Thu’um, Melinda Dovahkiin may be the only one capable of stopping him,” Ulfric sighed. “She has resisted my overtures to join our cause, but she is a powerful woman and worth cultivating the friendship of. I know you are close to her. Can you persuade her to find this man? I know not what his plans are, but that Shout… there was nothing good or holy about that Shout. No Greybeard taught him that.”

“I imagine not,” Cicero said softly. “Well, Cicero is skilled at tracking people, and Melinda will want to know about another Thu’um-wielder, I agree. Yes, my Jarl, we will take this one. Is there anything else you can tell me? Do you know where he might have gone?”

Ulfric did grin at that, reaching for a nearby treasure chest and handing five hundred septims over.

“I have not been idle. I have some leads. He arrived with a companion. A young Imperial called Lucien Flavius. I believe him still in the city. He might know where they were planning to go next. He was staying at the tavern but my men report he’s not there. They have not however seen him leave, and without Saviik at his side, I do not believe he’s gifted enough to slip out unnoticed.”

“That name is known to me,” Cicero said thoughtfully. “He was in Falkreath around the time I became Thane. We were both sons of Cyrodiil far from home. We would talk often. I do not believe I will have difficulty tracing him. He is not trained in the stealthy arts. He is just a young man from Cyrodiil more at ease with books than people, and likely in way over his head. He already knows me. I can persuade him to assist, I am sure, and I think he will want to find his friend. Yes, Jarl Ulfric. I will assist with this problem.”

Exactly how Cicero would help, he was unsure at present. Lucien was attached to Saviik, that was clear… but Lucien had also thought Cicero might make a good mentor and protector, so that didn’t say much. Still. It did mean Cicero could get close to Miraak and find out just what he was up to. Possibly even stab him and run… but he’d died once and that hadn’t stopped him. No. No stabbing this time. Not until they knew more.

It was a puzzle, it truly was… but if it meant Cicero got to listen to Miraak’s sexy, sexy voice again, he wasn’t complaining too hard.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lucien looked to see Cicero swanning in with a large smile on his face, stalhrim armour gleaming in the candlelight, and the two children accompanying it.

“Lucien!” Cicero trilled. “We have information. Firstly you have no price on your head and may leave if you wish. We will come to this in a second. Secondly Saviik is not under arrest and left the city last night.”

“He what?” Lucien gasped. “He didn’t… he _left_ me??”

Saviik had left him. Saviik had _left_ him?? He couldn’t take it in. Saviik was his friend! They were going to find out who he was together. And Saviik had just left?

Surprise on Cicero’s face, which softened into sympathy.

“Yes but I think he might not have felt he had a choice,” Cicero said, slipping on to the bench next to him. “It appears he used the Thu’um to… _persuade_ the Jarl to release him. And then left the city in a hurry before it wore off. It has now worn off and Jarl Ulfric wishes to get his hands on the man. It is unwise for him to return here. Not now anyway. There is a price on his head, and Jarl Ulfric wishes to engage the Dragonborn to hunt him. He believes she may be the only person capable of killing him. Cicero thinks he is not wrong.”

Cicero looked up, tilted his head, those cool brown eyes regarding Lucien rather sorrowfully.

“We are leaning more and more towards First Dragonborn back from the dead, I am very sorry to say, Lucien. That Shout he used on Jarl Ulfric was one known only to Miraak.”

“But,” Lucien whispered, mind awhirl. He’d thought about it. Of course he had. It was ridiculous. People did not just come back from the dead. Not even Dragonborns. Not when they’d been killed and had their soul taken by the other Dragonborn.

“He can’t be,” Lucien whispered. “Miraak’s dead!”

“Miraak might not be, and he might be an amnesiac Nord let loose on Skyrim with little idea what he really is,” Cicero said softly. “Tell me, Lucien Flavius, if your new friend is really Miraak First Dragonborn, what will you do, hmm? Stand by him? Or flee?”

“Don’t,” Lucien gasped. “Don’t say that! He’s not… look, even if he is really Miraak, he’s not the same person! Yes, he was a bad man first time around, but he died! He paid the ultimate price for what he did! If he’s back, then there’s a reason for that, surely. And he hasn’t done anything wrong this time. Only get out of being arrested which is illegal, yes, but Ulfric murdered the High King with _his_ Thu’um!”

Cicero actually cackled.

“He did, didn’t he,” Cicero said fondly. “Well, Cicero doesn’t disagree but you should not air that opinion too loudly, not in this city. So, seeing as you will not be talked out of this, and will not be persuaded to flee back to Cyrodiil before it’s too late, shall we find him then? If there is a man who should not be left wandering Skyrim on his own, it is that one.”

“Yes,” Lucien gasped. “We need to find him, make sure he’s all right and… he might not be Miraak, you know. He might be a lost Greybeard!”

He glanced hopefully at Cicero and saw no comfort in those eyes.

“No Greybeard ever knew Bend Will,” Cicero said, shaking his head, and Lucien stared back, suddenly realising Cicero knew more than he had any right to about the whole thing.

“That Shout has a name?” Lucien asked, suddenly wondering who exactly Cicero was anyway.

“They all have _names_ , dear boy,” Cicero cackled, serious expression shattering into brilliant, mad laughter. “Now, I have a letter to write letting people know I will be away for a time. And Rayya! I think it might be time the children went on a little holiday. Whiterun is nice. Whiterun is a very pretty city! Breezehome has a children’s bedroom now, there is room for them both. Pack their things up and take them there. Also when this letter is ready, take that as well. Safer than a courier.”

Cicero got out pen and paper and retreated up the stairs to write his note, finishing up, sealing it and passing it to Rayya, who tucked it in to her pocket. Meanwhile Lucien had got into his armour and gathered his things and… found his Dwemer resonant sphere.

35 missed vibrations on the thing. Saviik had been trying to contact him the whole time.

_He didn’t abandon me, he just had to run. He still cares! He’s worried! He’s… still my Saviik._

That thought brought cheer to Lucien’s heart. Pressing the button to open it up projected both screen and keypad out, activating the messaging feature.

Oh gods. Nearly a dozen messages on the thing.

_Lucien had 2 leave city krosis going west fnd me in morning._

_Lucien found inn stopping 4 nite b safe zuu lokaal._

_Lucien r u there? R u prisoner? Tinvaak with me!_

_Lucien at nightgate inn. Pls tnvk me._

_Lucien is morning, r u safe?? zuu fen daal??_

_Lucien where r u, will rip city apart if have to._

_Lucien Lucien Lucien Lucien…_

All along those lines, all speaking to a man who still cared very very much and was tearing his hair out worrying. Oh gods. Lucien hastily tapped out a response.

_Saviik! Don’t come back. Price on your head. Am safe. Not prisoner. So sorry. Will find you. Please don’t fuss. Lucien._

He flipped on the tracker, wondering just how close Saviik was to walking right back into Windhelm to reclaim him by force and… Saviik was out near Lake Yorgrim, little marker blinking on the map of Skyrim. The marker appeared to have stopped. And then the sphere buzzed again as a new message came in.

_Lucien never that again feared you lost!_

Then another.

_Now what? Where fly we?_

Literal translations from Dovahzul, and he likely was sober which meant he was too emotionally troubled to translate properly. Oh gods.

 _I am so sorry. I was worried too. Didn’t know you’d escaped!_

The response was a little curter than Lucien would have liked.

_Use ur damn sphere, mey, u would know!_

And then a follow up, rather more conciliatory this time, Saviik’s displeasure short-lived, it seemed.

_Niid lorot. Krosis. I forgive you. Niid daal not coming 2 city. Where 2? 2 cold 2 w8. Come 2 inn?_

Good question. Where should they go? The Nightgate Inn was a good rendezvous but it was on the main road to Windhelm, a lot of Stormcloak patrols stopped there. Lucien didn’t like the idea of Saviik sitting there and getting picked up by one. Safer to go to ground entirely, but where?

Well, there was the original plan. Rule out options, or rule them in. He might not be Miraak reborn. He might be a Dragon Cult scholar yet! He might…

Lucien wasn’t so sure anymore. It had been one thing having to talk Saviik out of jumping to conclusions with no real evidence. But Cicero’s quiet assertion that no Greybeard taught Saviik how to rip someone’s free will away stuck with him. He’d seen him do it – tell an Impact Stone yes, it had been hit with an arrow when it blatantly hadn’t. Now here was Cicero telling him Saviik had done the same with Jarl Ulfric, telling the Jarl to release him and not harm Lucien.

These were Miraak’s abilities all right. But Lucien didn’t want to believe it. He wanted his Saviik back. He didn’t want to give up hope just yet. And he knew, he just knew that Saviik was not a bad man. Just a bit intense, that was all.

Lucien took a deep breath. Reason. Calmness. Deal with what was here, not what had been or might never be. And what he had here was a dear friend feeling lonely and confused, standing alone and cold by the side of a road in Skyrim.

_Meet me at Winterhold. Leaving within hour. Found a friend! Tell you later. Be safe!_

Silence. Then…

_You too, lokaali. My teeth to your foes._

“Right,” Lucien whispered, staring at the history page. Very little of this had actually reassured him, but Saviik was alive and well and free and that was the main thing, right?

“Is everything all right?” Cicero cooed from right behind him, causing Lucien to start, cry out and promptly drop the sphere.

Cicero, who should not have been able to move anything like that quietly, cackled and caught it, before seeing the message history and going quiet.

“You can talk to him with this?” Cicero said in wonder. “And find out where he is?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, suddenly wanting it back in his hands more than anything. “It was a gift from my father in case I found a travelling companion, Saviik’s got the other one. I… should have checked it last night. I’m such an idiot.”

“You really should, yes,” Cicero said, scanning the messages. “We are going to Winterhold then? Excellent. Cicero has never been inside the mages’ college, you know!”

That did not surprise Lucien one bit.

“You don’t really look like a mage,” Lucien said, holding out a hand for his sphere back. “Could I… have that back. I really don’t like the idea of other people playing with it.”

Cicero grinned and handed it back.

“Cicero supposes if he starts writing to Saviik on it, he will assume you are dead and return in force,” Cicero said cheerfully. “We cannot have that, can we? No, no, you should keep it. Now, you should leave first, alone. Go out via the main gate and go to the stables. My horse is there. The black one with the red eyes. She is called Shadowmere. Get on her and tell her you want to go to Winterhold. She will take care of the rest.”

“But I can’t ride!” Lucien protested. “Horses just throw me off!”

Cicero just sighed and handed over his dagger, a wickedly sharp one with a design Lucien had never seen before.

“Wear this and ask her nicely if you can ride her. Tell her you are a friend of Cicero’s. Then touch her mane. And hold on. You will not fall off if you are properly respectful.”

Oh gods. Lucien felt terrified at the mere thought. Cicero had a horse. A sentient horse with… red eyes?? Oh gods.

“You realise if I’m injured doing this, Saviik will kill you,” Lucien warned him. Cicero had the nerve to cackle.

“He can get his teeth into me any day,” Cicero purred. “But you will not be injured. You will be polite to Shadowmere and respectful and hold on until you get there. And all will be well.”

He clearly wasn’t getting out of this, was he.

“What about you, won’t you need a horse?” Lucien asked desperately. Cicero just grinned.

“Don’t worry about me,” Cicero purred. “I will be just fine.”

Lucien had no trouble believing that. It was his own safety he was worried about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on Dovahzul:
> 
> Diist Dovahkiin - First Dragonborn
> 
> Zu'u fen daal? - should I come back?
> 
> Zu'u lokaal - I love you
> 
> Lokaali - my love
> 
> Tinvaak - talk, conversation, emotional connection through speech
> 
> Ziin-Thu'umme - Two-Thu'ums
> 
> Lucien does give you a Dwemer Resonant Sphere so you can trace each other in the mod, but it doesn't have text messaging. That I have added because Miraak leaving god knows how many frantic texts just seemed funny. And him slipping into Dovahzul to tell Lucien things he doesn't quite want to say in Tamrielic yet also can't hold back just seemed sweet.
> 
> There's a Restoring the Aretino Residence mod at https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/30447, and Cicero has done just that, fixed up the house and got his housecarl from Falkreath to be the responsible adult looking after Aventus and Sofie. He's never officially adopted them but he's very fond of them both. Melinda is fully aware and approves.


	5. Winterhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saviik and Lucien reach Winterhold, and while the College meets expectations, Saviik's not impressed with what truly isn't a city. But Winterhold's problems aren't anything they can solve and they're here for the academics. However, Cicero's information on Miraak has got Lucien thinking, and he can't sit in denial any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally our heroes get to Winterhold! This is First Lessons, working on the assumption that while Melinda came here, she just did the entrance exam, went straight to the Arcanaeum to talk to Urag then left, and did none of the rest of the questline. Guess what Miraak will end up doing, with Lucien's help of course.

Saviik for his part had stared at the sphere for a long time after sending that message, wondering if he’d gone too far.

_He’s young. You barely know him. You’ve known him all of a week. Calling him that, what were you thinking?_

Saviik knew it was ridiculous. But… it was true. He adored Lucien. Lucien was enthusiastic and bright in both senses and a little ray of sunshine that warmed Saviik’s life and his heart. 

Saviik had spent most of the previous night tossing and turning, barely sleeping, fearing and worrying and wondering if he should go back. Because he’d sent messages, sent countless vibrating alerts down that sphere and nothing from Lucien. He’d already known he thought Lucien was attractive. He already knew he cared. But he’d not known until he’d been lying there terrified Lucien was coming to harm and he was helpless to stop it just how much he’d cared.

 _Drem, Saviik._ Lucien had finally got in touch and no one but Saviik needed to know how much he’d scrambled trying to get the sphere out as he’d heard it vibrate. Lucien was safe, they’d made contact, they were going to meet in Winterhold. Along with this friend.

Saviik was suspicious. Saviik distrusted this mysterious friend already. Was it someone Lucien already knew? Saviik hoped so. But he could do nothing about it, not right now. All he could do was set out for Winterhold.

The turning wasn’t far, and the few beasts he met on the way gave him little trouble. The fort full of necromancers, rather more so. Dragon Aspect got him through it though. As did breathing fire.

He could breathe fire! He’d known it, but it was another thing entirely to do it! Even after clearing the fort, that knowledge kept him cheerful for hours.

Day didn’t last forever though and the sun started to set behind the mountains, and the temperature _dropped._ Saviik shivered, even his blood feeling the cold. The beasts got fiercer, tougher ice wolves instead of their smaller kin, and then the snow bear attacked.

His Thu’um hadn’t recharged from the last attack yet, and somehow the beast was powering through his shock magic. Gods damn it, he was not dying to this thing, not with what he presumed was Winterhold in sight!

Hoofbeats in the distance, and Saviik looked to see, right as the bear’s teeth closed around his left wrist.

“Gods damn you, daedra-humping son of a horker,” Saviik roared, hitting it repeatedly with his axe to persuade it to let go… and then flames hit the bear as a horse reared above him, some demonic thing with glowing red eyes.

“Leave him alone, you big, furry… oh god.”

The rider had lashed out with a sword. The bear let go of Saviik and swiped at the new target, claws raking armour and Saviik heard Lucien cry out. 

Not happening. Not happening on Saviik’s watch. His breath had come back, and one howl of YOL TOOR SHUL later and the bear breathed its last as Saviik’s axe cleaved its skull.

Saviik had just enough left in him to stagger to the horse’s side and catch Lucien as he slithered off its back and into Saviik’s arms, and Saviik stifled a cry of pain as his left wrist protested. Didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Lucien was safe and here and was this his horse??

Saviik suspected the black horse with glowing red eyes was not in fact Lucien’s, but he could ask about this later. Right now, his strength was exhausted and his knees gave way and he fell to the snow with Lucien in his arms, not wanting to let him go.

“You’re alive,” Saviik gasped. “My Lucien, thank the gods you are all right. I was worried…”

“I’m sorry,” Lucien whispered. “I should have checked the sphere but I was so tired… are you all right?”

Saviik nodded, closing his eyes.

“Now I know you are safe, yes. Yes, I will be.”

He really should move but he was lying in soft snow with Lucien on top of him and if he moved, Lucien would be far away again instead of right there, close enough to kiss.

He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t that far gone. But he did reach up and stroke Lucien’s hair, beyond pleased to see him again.

Oddly, Lucien didn’t look pleased, in fact he looked sad about something.

“You’re not…”

“Not what?” Saviik asked, starting to worry, and then Lucien’s face set in a very firm line.

“You’re _not_ a bad person,” Lucien said firmly. “Even… even if you were Miraak once, you don’t have to do the whole trying to take over the world thing again. You can be a good person this time!”

“You do not know that I was Miraak,” Saviik pointed out. “Back on Solstheim, you were at pains to point out alternatives.”

Lucien bit his lip, silent for a few moments, then he shook his head.

“Did you really use the Thu’um to take over Ulfric Stormcloak’s mind for a bit?”

Ah. That.

“Yes,” Saviik admitted. “He tried to recruit me for the Stormcloaks. I refused him of course. This Talos god is a stranger to me and I am not pledging allegiance to a man who only knows two Thu’ums. I was concerned bloodshed might result so took steps to avert it. Krosis, Lucien. It will have worn off by now. He will be fine.”

“Not fine, he’s got a price on your head for misuse of the Thu’um!” Lucien cried, staring down at Saviik, clearly annoyed. Saviik really should feel contrite about this but clearly he was an awful person because he couldn’t help but smile.

“Krosis. Should I have used it to murder a High King instead?”

Lucien bit his lip, cheeks staining red and then he burst out laughing, and Saviik was lost then, dissolving into laughter with Lucien on top of him, both laughing and Lucien was leaning down, forehead almost touching Saviik’s, and if he reached up he could touch Lucien’s face and…

His as yet unhealed left arm protested, Saviik winced in pain, and Lucien went bright red and rolled off him like he’d been burnt.

“I am so sorry, gods, you’re injured, we need to get you somewhere warm, can you get up?”

Saviik bit back a moan of disappointment at no kissing, but Lucien was right about needing to move. Casting a healing spell, Saviik closed wounds, breathed life back into muscles, energy into his body and slowly dragged himself to his feet, knowing he’d need to sleep well tonight to get over this.

“I’ll have the bedroll tonight, you should have a bed,” Lucien said gently. “Can you ride? Have Shadowmere. We’re nearly there, look.”

Saviik did not like to ask where the clearly Daedric horse had come from but it had got Lucien here so he wasn’t complaining. Sliding on to its back, he closed his eyes and let it carry him to the town, sure Lucien would scream if anything attacked.

“Kogaan, my Lucien,” Saviik murmured to him. “Whatever happens, you will always be special to me.”

Lucien patted his leg, took Shadowmere’s reins and said nothing in response, only quietly encouraging Shadowmere and leading them onwards. And so it was on the back of a borrowed Dark Brotherhood horse and with young Lucien Flavius leading the way that the First Dragonborn came to Winterhold.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The inn was thankfully right at the edge of town, although Lucien noticed no stables. Still, Shadowmere didn’t seem to mind.

Saviik slid off the horse, still shaky on his feet and leaning on Lucien as they entered the tavern, sitting down and waiting while Lucien paid for the room, then following Lucien into their room, dropping the packs and sitting on the bed.

“Help me with my armour?” Saviik asked. “Normally I can do this myself but… I am weary.”

“Do mine after?” Lucien asked, still not used to getting in and out of this stuff, and Saviik nodded. So Lucien helped Saviik and then Saviik was stripping the outer layers of his own gear off. And then Saviik stretched himself out on the bed, eyes closed, apparently content and happy. And Lucien sat down in the chair and realised he could put this off no longer.

“Miraak,” Lucien said softly. Not even a question. Just finally looking at what was truly in front of him and realising a man who was also a dragon had come back from the dead.

“What about him,” Saviik said sleepily.

“I’m looking at him, aren’t I,” Lucien sighed. “Eight, Sav- Miraak.”

Saviik’s eyes flicked open and he sat up, hair falling down around his face, shirt open, chest hair on show, and Lucien felt everything in him yearning for him… but he couldn’t deny that this man had also done some horrible things.

“You have changed your mind since Solstheim,” the man who Lucien wasn’t sure was his Saviik any more said, watching him carefully.

“Cicero told me the Thu’um was hard to learn, but you know about five of them,” Lucien said, not meeting Miraak’s eyes. “And he said no Greybeard would know Bend Will. That Shout has a name?”

“Apparently,” the probable-First Dragonborn said, eyes not leaving Lucien. “This Cicero. The friend you met in Windhelm. Whose horse you likely rode in on. Who is he. How do you know him. And how does he know so much about the Thu’um? He is no Dovahkiin, is he?”

“I don’t think so,” Lucien admitted. “He’s from the Imperial City, like me. His mother was in the Legion too. I think he might have been an Imperial agent at one point but he was living in Falkreath and working as a freelance adventurer when I met him. I don’t know where he’s getting his Thu’um-lore from though. But there’s an active Dragonborn in Skyrim other than you, people are telling stories and seeing her work first-hand and she sounds like the type to answer questions. Wouldn’t put it past Cicero to buy her a drink in a tavern one night and pretend to be her biggest fan. He sounded pretty certain and… if you really did do that to Ulfric, I don’t think the Greybeards taught you how.”

Silence. Lucien barely dared look at him. And then the First Dragonborn finally claimed the name back.

“I do not think so either, fahdoni. From the moment I first heard Miraak’s story, it sat with me uneasily, refusing to be ignored. From the moment I first heard the word Dovahkiin, I knew… I just knew. And that Shout, of all of them, refuses to be ignored. I fear it, but mostly I fear what it says about me that that one comes so easily. I am not a good man, Lucien.”

Miraak, Diist Dovahkiin, leaned closer and let go some of the constraints on his voice, letting the reverberation show.

“I am in all likelihood the reborn First Dragonborn, and you… you should run far, far away, my Lucien. I saved you, yes. But I might also destroy you just as easily. Lucien, if you wish to leave, to go back to Cyrodiil or just go your own way, I will not stop you.”

“It’s not proven yet,” Lucien whispered, clinging on to the last shreds of hope.

“It will be,” Miraak told him, sitting up, no pleasure in his own eyes at any of this. “We will eventually find a dragon, or it will find us. I will kill that dragon. And when I take its soul on death, what will you do on that day? Will you still want me by your side or will you flee from me in horror?”

“I don’t…” Lucien realised in that instant that for all his blithe statements before about how he’d stand by Saviik regardless, he was no longer sure it was true. “I can’t just… I’m not sticking around watching you plot world domination!”

“I’m not!”

Miraak – Saviik sounded oddly offended by the accusation and Lucien finally looked up to see him staring back, appalled… and managing to tug on Lucien’s heartstrings. Damn him.

“You did before!” Lucien snapped.

“I don’t remember before!” Miraak cried. “Akatosh, Lucien, I’d spent over four thousand years in Apocrypha, I probably wanted out at any cost! Now… I’m out of there now. I could… I could do something else. Be someone else! I can still be your Saviik if you want me to be. I liked that life. Exploring. Learning new things. Every day a new adventure. My goal in life to make sure you made it home safely. I resented none of it, my Lucien! I was happy! I still could be. If you’ll have me.”

His voice had dropped to a wistful, yearning tone that made Lucien want to hug him. Even if hugging him did keep giving him inconvenient erections. Lucien closed his eyes, still cursing himself for very much wanting to cuddle Miraak and be his Lucien. Those arms promised safety, warmth, comfort… Lucien wanted them very much but not at the cost of propping up an evil bastard.

Lucien closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead, scientist brain trying to analyse all this without success, mainly because it kept coming back to how? How was a definitely dead First Dragonborn back? A mystery.

Among his first words to his enigmatic Saviik had been that he loved a good mystery. Well. Miraak’s goodness was the thing in question, wasn’t it. But… Lucien did rather want to know how on earth he’d come back. If he was actually Miraak, of course… but the evidence was starting to tilt that way.

If he left, he’d never know. In the end, it all came down to the researcher’s inevitable conclusion. More research needed.

“We need to know more,” Lucien decided. “Even if you are Miraak, and it’s not definitively proven yet, that still leaves the question of how on Nirn you managed to come back. I mean, you died and the Dragonborn took your soul. That sounds pretty permanent to me. Yet here you are. Alive.”

“Here I am,” Miraak agreed, starting to smile. “I confess to being curious. It is good that there is a large magical research institution on our doorstep, isn’t there.”

“We’ll enrol in the morning,” Lucien agreed, starting to smile. “Or I will. I don’t think people are going to believe you’re an apprentice mage for long.”

Miraak purred, shaking out that glorious mane of hair again, and Lucien crossed his legs awkwardly. Eight help him. Was there anything in the library about cures for unwanted physiological reactions to completely innocuous physical actions? Lucien hoped so.

Miraak must have noticed Lucien’s discomfort because concern was back in his eyes, the First Dragonborn almost pouting.

“Lucien? Are you all right? Truly? You still wish me as a travelling companion?”

“Yes,” Lucien said, and only then did his brain catch up. “I mean, yes, obviously, I can’t research you if you’re not there! And I’ll be a lot happier that you’re not planning world domination if I know what you’re doing. And in all honesty, I’ll last about ten minutes in Skyrim on my own. That’s twice as long as I’d have managed if I’d never met you. And…”

Lucien stopped, because how did you tell the First Dragonborn he had pretty eyes and a smile that melted Lucien’s heart and gave the best hugs and Lucien couldn’t take his eyes off him. Especially with his shirt hanging open. A shirt Lucien had bought him in Raven Rock.

You didn’t, of course.

“I think I’d miss you,” was all Lucien was prepared to say right now. “I worried about you too last night. I was mostly worried you were afraid or lonely. If I’m not with you, I think I’ll worry again.”

Miraak’s pouty frown shifted almost imperceptibly into a hopeful little smile and Lucien could feel his heart melting all over again. Damn him.

“As I would about you,” Miraak said softly. “My Lucien. I already made an enemy of Ulfric Stormcloak on your behalf. What else would I do, if you asked it of me?”

 _I’m not your Lucien._ But somehow Lucien’s heart wasn’t in the protest. 

“Can I still call you Saviik,” Lucien asked. And to his surprise, Miraak nodded.

“Yes of course,” he said, still smiling. “Miraak Saviik. I like it. Of course, with a price on my head in one Hold, maybe the name Saviik needs retiring. This is a Stormcloak Hold, isn’t it?”

Lucien ruefully admitted that was the case… but the College itself was neutral. Thankfully.

Miraak seemed happy with that and with this settled, their thoughts turned to dinner. And Lucien felt a burden he’d not fully realised he’d been carrying slip away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Bright morning, and Cicero had not caught up with them.

“I’ve still got his knife,” Lucien whispered. “And his horse!”

“Then he will return for them if he is able,” Miraak said, shrugging. “And if he lies dead in a ditch somewhere, they are yours now. Unless his kin find out and object, I suppose.”

Lucien did not like to think about that. The man had children!

“Lucien,” Miraak sighed. “You cannot spend your life worrying about someone else’s children. They are not your problem. And from what you told me of this Cicero, he is not an easy man to kill. Did you say he had stalhrim armour??”

“It certainly looked like it,” Lucien admitted. “Oh, he’s probably fine, isn’t he? I should stop worrying. I keep forgetting not everyone’s a milk-drinker like me.”

An arm around his shoulder and Miraak was hugging him.

“Do not discount yourself. You are braver than you think, and more skilled. I am glad of your company.”

“Really, because what I mostly seem to do is get in the way and cause you trouble,” Lucien sighed. “You’d have been fine in Windhelm if you’d been on your own.”

“That is Windhelm’s fault,” Miraak said shortly. “And you are not in the way, you have been nothing but a help to me. I meant what I said last night. I resent and regret none of it. Keeping you alive is a worthy goal.”

Lucien was blushing, he just knew it. It was definitely obvious that he’d been a politician of some sort once. Someone who routinely did rousing speeches and sermons to rally the faithful. It might be a Nord thing, of course. It might be an ancient Nord thing. But Lucien knew that a gift for compliments like Miraak’s had been well honed to the point he seemed to have forgotten how to turn it off.

He should really tell him to stop, but part of him really didn’t want him to.

The walk up Winterhold’s main, and it turned out, only street was not a lengthy one. The tavern, a general store, one small house, and the Jarl’s longhouse, all small wooden buildings. The College itself, the great stone edifice at the far end, was the only building of any significance.

“This is it?” Miraak said, staring round at the town. “I had expected more. And what are all these ruined buildings? Did something happen?”

“The Great Collapse,” Lucien said quietly, remembering reading about it. “It was a storm. Or a landslide or… accounts vary. But there was a storm and waves that lashed the city for weeks, and then one night there was this landslide and half the city collapsed into the sea. It was a major city before then. Massive Dunmer population. Hard to believe but true. There weren’t that many fatalities but when you’ve got half the city homeless and the climate’s like this… people moved away. The population collapsed like the city did and the economy with it. The College survived, but the Jarl and townsfolk blamed the mages for the Collapse, either causing it or for only saving themselves. It’s been a standoff between the Jarl and Archmage ever since.”

Miraak shook his head, disbelieving. How could an entire city just… vanish. The gods were cruel sometimes.

“How long ago was it?” Miraak asked, wondering if the Jarl had got over it and thought about rebuilding yet.

“Fourth Era 122,” Lucien said. “About eighty years ago, give or take.”

“Eighty… and the Jarl has done nothing? The Archmage has done nothing??” Miraak cried. “If this was my strunmah, I would be _ashamed!_ ”

“I know, I know, but Nords aren’t _good_ with magic!” Lucien sighed, then remembered who he was talking to. “Oh look, you know what I mean. Today’s Nords. They’ve not trusted magic since the Oblivion Crisis. They blamed mages for that, and magic’s been a minority pursuit ever since. Mages aren’t popular. Nordic culture values the warrior ideal above all, and that involves no magic, just the blade.”

“No magic, just the… Lucien, this is ridiculous,” Miraak snapped. “I know not everyone can study magic or wants to, but what army sets forth without battlemages. Healers? Necromancers and summoners??”

“Necromancy’s illegal,” Lucien told him, wincing in advance and Miraak let out a strangled cry before calming down.

“Of course it is,” Miraak sighed. “An easy way to increase your forces if things are going badly for you, and it’s illegal.”

Apparently while Miraak’s memories were gone, his cultural mores were still very much intact.

“The priests of Arkay don’t like it, Miraak, and nor do most people, they object to the corpse desecration,” Lucien hissed. Miraak just rolled his eyes.

“The corpse is dead, what does it care,” Miraak muttered. “Ugh. Well, it’s not my specialty anyway. But it’s ridiculous.”

“Well, maybe keep that opinion to yourself?” Lucien asked, already starting to worry. He had enough to worry about what with fights finding him, never mind Miraak starting them with controversial opinions on necromancy.

To his surprise, Miraak glanced at him, smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“Niid faas,” Miraak said, grinning. “I speak my mind with you because I know you will listen and not judge. But I know how to be mindful of others. I will not start fights without cause.”

Well, that was something. Of course, Miraak’s idea of without cause was likely very different to Lucien’s.

But the College was here, and the College likely had its own ideas of without cause, and Lucien had to trust Miraak could keep to those at least.

Up the ramp leading upwards to what seemed to be the gatehouse and it seemed unguarded… until a female Altmer in fine red robes that matched her hair stepped into view. She did not look pleased to see them.

“Cross the bridge at your own peril! The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry!”

Miraak and Lucien exchanged looks. This was not how they’d expected things to go.

“You’re not taking new students?” Miraak asked, surprised. The elf’s frown lifted, her turn to look surprised now.

“You’re… prospective students? In that? Forgive me, but you look more like sellswords.”

“I lost many of my possessions to a bandit attack,” Miraak explained, hoping this might get some sympathy. “This is what I have been able to scavenge since. It served me well on the way here. As for Lucien here, he is not skilled in the art of combat yet. We found him a set of this so as to keep him safe in a fight. But I assure you I am a skilled mage, and Lucien here is keen to learn. We’re here to enrol him as a student and for me to investigate your library. I am a researcher into the Ancient Nords.”

“Are you now?” The elf’s expression and stance had got progressively less hostile as he’d spoken, and he sensed he was close to winning her over. “Well now, we do have a space for a new apprentice. And I’m sure our library will have something. Much was lost over the years but we have documents as far back as the second era. However, we do maintain strict entry controls on our College. No one is permitted inside who does not have some skill with magic to start with. You will need to demonstrate your skill. Non-violently, if you please. Cast offensive spells and conjurations spells on the seal there.”

Miraak didn’t need asking twice. A minute later and the seal was smoking from the barrage of lightning magic he’d just rained down on it.

“Will I do?” he purred and the elf actually smiled.

“Yes you will,” she said, seeming impressed. “I am Faralda, the College’s Master of Destruction magic. You and I will have to have some conversations, I think.”

“I look forward to it,” Miraak said, feeling rather pleased with himself. “And Lucien, is he welcome?”

“I’ll need something from him too,” Faralda said thoughtfully. “Not immolating our test seal though. Can you conjure a Flame Atronach? That would prove your skill.”

“I… um…” Lucien whispered. He’d studied about as much Conjuration as Miraak had, probably less.

“What spells do you know, Lucien?” Miraak asked. He’d seen Lucien heal himself after fights, and seen basic frost and fire spells, but not a lot else.

“The Synod have a lock on most magical learning in Cyrodiil,” Lucien confessed, face scarlet. “I never got to learn more than a few basic spells.”

Faralda’s face softened with sympathy.

“I’m aware of the Synod,” she said, her voice kind enough to make Miraak suspect she wasn’t a fan. “I can teach the spell if you like, for a mere thirty septims.”

Lucien’s face broke out in relief as he handed over the money, learnt the spell off her and then tried to cast it.

“I summon… you!”

The atronach materialised, twirling on the spot and watching impassively, and Faralda nodded.

“I think you’ll make fine additions to the College! Come with me, let me show you the way.”

The way turned out to be a winding and narrow causeway that barely seemed to hold their weight, and then they reached a particularly damaged part of the bridge that made Lucien wince.

“Have they seriously not fixed this yet? Miraak, this is an absolute deathtrap.”

“Perhaps this is the second part of the entrance exam,” Miraak said, eyeing it thoughtfully. “Here, put your pack down then arms round my neck.

Lucien did so, wondering what Miraak had in mind, then gasped as Miraak swept him into his arms.

“Hold on,” Miraak said, grinning. “WULD NAH KEST!”

The Shout swept them over the bridge and over the threshold of the main gate, and Lucien didn’t open his eyes until he sensed they’d finally stopped.

“What was that??” he managed to get out.

“My Thu’um carrying you over the threshold,” Miraak purred, looking far too pleased with himself. “Here, let me put you down, I need to fetch the packs.”

He lowered Lucien to the ground and went to find their gear, summoning it gleefully over the broken bridge before bounding back with both packs under his arm like they weighed nothing, dropping them next to Lucien, before going back to see if Faralda was impressed.

She was, although appeared to be playing it down.

“Not bad! I have to ask, was that the Voice?” she asked, curious. “The Dragonborn used the Thu’um when she visited the College but she was always of the opinion that it was too powerful a gift to use casually. You know, I don’t believe I caught your name.”

“Miraak. Miraak Saviik,” Miraak said, only going a little on edge at the mention of the other Dragonborn. “My studies of the Dragon Cult taught me much. The Voice is a power like any other. Use it when it has utility. If not, do not. Otherwise what is the point of learning it?”

“I don’t disagree in principle but knowing when it’s needed and when it isn’t is always going to be contentious,” Faralda said. Still, she sounded like she approved.

“Well, I promise not to shout the Archmage to death,” Miraak told her, and Faralda actually laughed. 

“I think you’re going to fit in just fine around here,” Faralda said, smiling. “The two of you should report to the Master Wizard, Mirabelle Ervine. She’ll arrange your accommodation and get Lucien settled into his first class.”

“Classes,” Lucien repeated as she left, wrinkling his nose. “I’m going to have to actually go to school?”

“You might learn something,” Miraak told him, rolling his eyes. He was doing his best training Lucien but it would be nice for him to have other sources of learning too. “Come on, let’s find this Mirabelle.”

Mirabelle Ervine turned out to be a dark-haired Breton with olive skin, arguing with a High Elf in black-blue and gold robes. He looked a lot less friendly than Faralda.

“Oh gods, he’s a Thalmor,” Lucien whispered. “I was hoping to avoid them. They’re always a bit… well.”

Untrustworthy. Elven supremacists. Secretly plotting to wipe out humanity. Lucien’s previous explanations about the entire Great War and White-Gold Concordat had been enough. Miraak didn’t care about Talos… but trusting these elves sounded like a bad idea.

“I believe I’ve made myself rather clear,” Mirabelle was saying firmly.

“Yes of course,” the elf said, eyes and voice empty of any emotion whatsoever. “I’m simply trying to understand the reasoning behind the decision.”

“Cannot take no for an answer,” Miraak murmured to Lucien. “Do not trust his kind.”

“You used Bend Will on a Jarl, and if you’re really the First Dragonborn, a lot of other people!” Lucien whispered back.

“I don’t even remember most of that,” Miraak murmured. “Also I am a bad man, Lucien.”

“You are not,” Lucien whispered, and then Mirabelle was speaking again.

“You may be used to the Empire bowing to your every whim, but I'm afraid you'll find the Thalmor receive no such treatment here. You are a guest of the College, here at the pleasure of the Arch-Mage. I hope you appreciate the opportunity.”

“Yes of course,” the elf said, sounding increasingly less friendly. “The Archmage has my thanks.”

He did not remotely look grateful for any of it.

“Very good,” Mirabelle said firmly, apparently unconcerned by the enemy she’d made. “Then we’re done here.”

The elf took his leave, barely sparing a glance for the two newcomers. Mirabelle tutted once he was out of earshot, and her expression barely changed as she saw the two men, both smiling hopefully at her.

“Welcome to the College,” she said, frowning. “Faralda let you in? We’re not looking to hire sellswords.”

“Oh! No, we’re not sellswords!” Lucien gasped. “Goodness, have you seen me in a fight? No one’s going to pay me to have their back in a fight. We just joined! I’m Lucien Flavius, amateur wizard hoping to get better, and Saviik here’s a staggeringly terrifying battlemage.”

“He exaggerates,” Miraak said fondly. “I kill a bandit in front of him on our first meeting and he thinks I’m omnipotent.”

Not that Miraak exactly minded that. Still, Mirabelle seemed impressed.

“Well, we do have room for a new apprentice. Melinda Storm-Heart technically enrolled here but we’ve given up on her ever returning. So her room’s available. But before that, you’ll both need robes.”

“Are they mandatory?” Miraak had to ask. Mirabelle shook her head.

“No, but you may find them more to your liking than your… current clothes.”

“I am very tired of being mistaken for a sellsword,” Miraak mused as they followed her to the robing room. Lucien didn’t care about that but he could do with more clothes that weren’t essentially plates of steel hanging off his body. Half an hour later, and Lucien was admiring his new novice robes in a mirror. And then Miraak stepped out from behind his own privacy screen in the Adept level robes he’d persuaded Mirabelle to give him and Lucien suddenly had many many… regrets. Yes, that was it, regrets. Regretting ever coming here and bringing Miraak, who’d found a set of robes to fit him and… the armour made him look big and intimidating but it was also easy to blame this on the armour. The robes… he was still huge and still intimidating but it was manifestly obvious this was nothing to do with what he was wearing.

The robes fit well, and the style and colour suited him, and all put together it was immediately obvious that Miraak Saviik was a very attractive man.

“Um… gosh,” was all Lucien managed to get out, which was pathetic and unimpressive and Miraak was going to think he was a milk-drinker for life and just give up on him, and the only reason he wasn’t blushing was because all the blood had pooled rather lower and…

Miraak was just grinning, damn him.

“I think I will wear these more often,” Miraak purred. Oh no. Nononono! Because then Lucien would be staring at him _all the time!_ “I think I like the way they look.”

And then he looked Lucien up and down and that was somehow worse, because Miraak’s attention was _focused._

“I think I like the way yours look as well,” Miraak said in that softly throbbing voice of his, and Lucien actually whimpered.

Thank all the Divines for Mirabelle’s voice calling them to attention.

“Now that you have your robes, let me show you your quarters. Now, you said you were a researcher into the Dragon Cult and already a trained mage? That means you’ll be in the Hall of Countenance. And you, Lucien, will be in a room in the Hall of Attainment. Follow me and I’ll show you where they are and you can leave your things in there too.”

Thankful for the distraction, Lucien grabbed his things, wincing at having to carry rather than wear his armour, but actually getting his own room more than made up for it. Then it was following Mirabelle to Miraak’s room… and realising it was up a flight of stairs in a completely different part of the College.

Lucien was used to travelling alone by this point. Sleeping alone had been his entire life since he was a very small boy indeed. It shouldn’t matter that Saviik had his own room now and Lucien had his space and privacy back.

But it did and suddenly Lucien felt very small and alone.

“And now we should get you to your first class,” Mirabelle was saying. “Miraak, did you need a tour of the Arcanaeum as well, or are you happy to be left to your own devices?”

“I will certainly investigate the library later but right now, I think I would like to rest,” Miraak said, eyes not leaving Lucien. “Thank you.”

“As you wish,” Mirabelle said. “Lucien, I believe Tolfdir is addressing the other apprentices. Head into the Hall of the Elements, that’s the large building at the far end of the courtyard, and proceed into the central chamber. Most of our lectures and practical sessions take place there. If you have any problems, let me know.”

Lucien nodded as she left, a lump in his throat and suddenly feeling very alone even though the man he still wanted to think of as his Saviik was right there.

“Lucien,” and while his voice had the usual reverberation, the gentleness there tore at Lucien.

“I’m never going to see you, am I?” Lucien whispered. “You’re not sleeping in the same building, I won’t even see you at night.”

Miraak covered the gap between them in seconds, pulling Lucien into his arms, and Lucien bit back a sob as he felt strong arms holding him, solid chest under his head, and a sense of warmth and safety that settled him at once.

“You will see me,” Miraak promised. “I will find you. You will not be abandoned. I promise.”

Lucien wanted to believe that, but all he could see was a future of more lectures and studying and exams, stuck indoors and bored while Saviik was off investigating and exploring without him.

That last part stung particularly hard. He wanted to go out and have adventures and not die, and he’d been hoping Miraak would help with that. Not Miraak finally getting tired of him and just abandoning him. 

Lucien could see Miraak getting tired of him very quickly.

“What if you finally get tired of me and want to get rid of me,” Lucien said, voice muffled as he buried his face in Miraak’s robes.

“I am not remotely tired of you and do not want to get rid of you,” Miraak murmured, resting his cheek on the top of Lucien’s head. “I will be here, lokaal. For as long as you need me.”

Lokaal. He’d called him that before, in one or more of those frantic messages he’d sent the other night. 

“What’s that mean? Lokaal?” Lucien asked. “You called me it before.”

Silence, and then Miraak let him go, patting him on the back. 

“It is a term of endearment, and dear to me you are,” Miraak said softly. “Come on, shall we get you to this lecture? It might be interesting. You might learn something.”

Lucien supposed. 

“Will you come with me?” he whispered, aware that this probably sounded pathetic, but Miraak didn’t seem to mind, in fact he was smiling.

“Yes,” he said, stroking Lucien’s hair. “Yes, I will stop and listen. I wish to see for myself what the academic standards here are like.”

Meaning if they were terrible, he might have second thoughts about subjecting Lucien to them? Lucien almost hoped it was so. As it was, the entrance exam had seemed a bit ridiculously easy, and he told Miraak this.

“It is to keep out those hostile to the magical arts,” Miraak said, expression darkening. “Of which there are apparently many in Skyrim, and I believe it Ulfric Stormcloak’s fault.”

“Oh, it pre-dated him,” Lucien sighed. “But no, he’s hardly helped. Ugh. For all this place’s faults, it values learning at least.”

They made their way to the Hall of the Elements, and found this Tolfdir there, lecturing to three apprentice mages. A young Dunmer woman, a young Nord male and a Khajiit, all seeming a bit impatient.

“Welcome, welcome!” Tolfdir called to them cheerfully. “We were just getting started! Are you both new students or… no, you’re dressed like an adept. You are new though.”

“I am a visiting scholar, researching the Dragon Cult,” Miraak said smoothly, and wondered at the way Tolfdir’s face seemed to subtly light up. “I require no tuition in the magical basics but Lucien here needs a little… assistance.”

He indicated for Lucien to step forward and Lucien’s natural curiosity won out.

“Hello! Lucien Flavius, reporting for duty, sir.”

Tolfdir smiled, skin around his eyes crinkling, and Lucien felt his nerves fading. He seemed nice enough. Kind even. And a Nord at that! Nords learning magic. Not something you saw every day.

“Ah, there’s no need to call me sir, young man. You’re not in the Legion now!”

“No, si – I mean, no Tolfdir,” Lucien said, cursing himself for old habits dying hard. Captain Lyra Flavius’s influence went deeper in her son than even Lucien realised sometimes.

“Now, we were just discussing the need for safety and control with regards to magical practice,” Tolfdir said, indicating for Lucien to join the other three. All of whom looked dissatisfied with the topic already.

“And the first thing to understand is that magic is, by its very nature, volatile and dangerous. Unless you can control it, it can and will destroy you,” Tolfdir said firmly, looking at the Khajiit in particular.

“With all due respect, we already know how to control magic!” the Dunmer sighed. “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t!”

“Of course, Brelyna my dear. Of course,” Tolfdir said, trying to soothe her. “You all certainly possess some inherent natural ability. That much is not being questioned. What I'm talking about is true control, mastery of magic. It takes years, if not decades, of practice and study.”

“Then what are we waiting for,” the Khajiit said, rubbing fur-covered hands together already. “Let’s get started.”

“Please, please! This is exactly what I'm talking about,” Toldir cried. “Eagerness must be tempered with caution, or else disaster is inevitable.”

“Lucien. Fifty septims the cat is dead because of one of his own experiments within the year,” Miraak said from where he was perched on the central magicka well.

The Khajiit in question turned to Miraak and actually hissed before calming himself down.

“I will learn the Expert Destruction spells in that time and outstrip you so badly you will not even realise the race had commenced until it is too late,” he informed Miraak. 

“I look forward to watching your progress,” Miraak purred. “I already know those spells. Let me know when you have caught up and we shall begin.”

“ _Settle down,_ ” Tolfdir said, clearly starting to lose his patience. “Well now, seeing as you’re claiming expertise in Destruction, perhaps we should focus on teaching the opposite today. How to ward off Destruction spells. Lucien, wasn’t it. How are your Warding spells?”

“Wards? I… don’t really know any warding spells,” Lucien admitted.

“Oh that’s fine, I’ll teach you a very basic one to get you started,” Tolfdir said. “And if any of you three don’t know any wards either, gather round and watch. I have a mind for something practical.”

That had a way of getting people’s attention, and soon they were all learning the Lesser Ward spell. And then it was time for a demonstration.

“All right, now seeing as I don’t yet know anything about Lucien’s ability, why don’t you help out with this one. Would you be willing to assist with a practical ward demonstration?”

“Of course!” Lucien gasped, keen to impress. Keen to impress Miraak in particular, of course but still keen.

“What,” Miraak snapped. “Lucien, this could be dangerous!”

“It could but that’s why the need to emphasise magical control,” Tolfdir said firmly. “Now, Lucien here is your friend, correct? You’ve known him some time and feel invested in protecting him, am I correct in that assumption?”

“I would not see him come to harm,” Miraak said pointedly. “Why do you ask?”

“Then I think you should be the other participant. Perhaps seeing a real adept exercising magical control will bring the need for it home to the others.”

“What??” Miraak cried, appalled. “Out of the question, I’m not firing Destruction spells at Lucien!”

“I don’t mind!” Lucien said, determined to sound chirpy and prove he wasn’t a coward. “Don’t worry, I know a ward spell now. You hit me while I’ve got that up, I won’t feel a thing!”

Not remotely the case, and Miraak did not like the idea at all. But everyone was watching and Lucien was insistent. So reluctantly he agreed and everyone cleared out of the way as Lucien took up a stance and cast his ward.

“Come on! I’m ready! Hit me!” Lucien said cheerfully, and Miraak gritted his teeth. Frost was his weakest element, surprising for a Nord, but there it was. One Ice Spike later and Lucien staggered back under the impact… but his ward held. At least until his magicka ran out seconds later.

“I did it!” Lucien cried, delighted. “I warded a spell!”

Yes he had. Miraak’s weakest. But it was important to encourage the young, and Miraak was proud of him and charmed by his enthusiasm… and also determined to protect him even more because he would last about five minutes in a real fight.

“Well done!” Tolfdir said, seeming pleased… by both of them it turned out. “Now, were you watching closely? And recalling what I said earlier about magical control? Miraak, you said earlier you knew the Expert level Destruction spells, correct?”

Yes, that was true.

“And would you mind sharing your strongest and weakest elements?”

“I’m a shock mage primarily. I don’t deal well with ice spells,” Miraak said, both an unformed instinct telling him this was so and his own experiments since waking up, feeling the storm come rising first but the snow feeling awkward.

“Precisely,” Tolfdir said, smiling. “You will all please note that when firing a training spell at someone he has no desire to hurt, Miraak’s first instincts were to use apprentice-level magic in the sphere he’s weakest in, intentionally reining in the potential damage that could be caused had Lucien’s ward failed. That is what you should be emulating. Not the ability to rain damage on your foes… but how to hold back to avoid harming your allies. That holds true for more than just combat. All your practical experiments should include a plan on how to avoid or mitigate harm to anyone in the vicinity. Now it’s getting late so we’ll call a halt for today, but I’d like you all to continue practising with wards please, and next class perhaps I will have you all in pairs warding each other off. However, before that happens, there’s a more practical exercise planned. I think you’re ready to start exploring the various applications of magic throughout history. The College has undertaken a fascinating excavation in the ruins of Saarthal nearby. It's an excellent learning opportunity. Meet me after breakfast in the central courtyard tomorrow and we’ll head over there and see what awaits inside. That’s all for now, thank you. Miraak, may I have a word?”

Of course. And something about the name Saarthal felt familiar too. Miraak had no idea why though… but if it was a Dragon Cult ruin, maybe he had been there before.

Lucien also lingered, keen to learn more.

“You said you were a scholar of the Dragon Cult,” Tolfdir said without preamble. “As you probably know, Saarthal was the first city built by the Ancient Nords when they came from Atmora. Sacked by the Snow Elves then later reclaimed by the Nords, it was sealed and never resettled. No one knows why. I don’t suppose you know anything about it.”

Miraak could truthfully say it had never been his area of expertise.

“But I can read Dovahzul,” Miraak was able to boast. “If you find any inscriptions, I’d be happy to translate.”

“Marvellous!” Tolfdir laughed. “I was hoping you’d come along. Your assistance could be invaluable!”

Miraak didn’t doubt the combat skills would come in useful, but the fact remained he didn’t remember anything concrete about the Ancient Nords and if they expected him to be an authoritative expert, he’d be exposed as a fraud in short order. Tolfdir left and Miraak turned to Lucien.

“What do you know about Saarthal. Tell me everything you know!”

“Not much more than Tolfdir already told you, I’m afraid. Only that it was the first human city on a continent of elves, and the elves sacked it. But! There are books! There’s always books. The Skyrim edition of Pocket Guide to the Empire mentions it, I know that much. And there was this old story about an enchanter from there called Ahzidal but not much on the actual city, I’m afraid. I do recall it said he was the first really skilled human enchanter and enchanted a great many relics for Ysgramor’s army when they came to reconquer it. So, expect to see a few of those. And there was another archaeology expedition a few centuries ago. The Arcanaeum might have the report, it was an official Imperial one! I read it myself years ago. I don’t recall the details but I seem to remember a tentative conclusion that the elves didn’t completely wreck the city. They seemed to know the layout and were targeting a specific objective. No one knows what though. Most reports seem to think the elves just wiped the city out indiscriminately and only Ysgramor and his two sons escaped… but that doesn’t fit with what this report said.”

That meant reading. Which meant the library. Miraak should be all right with this… but for some reason, the idea of being surrounded by books bothered him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Miraak really didn’t like this place. Not at all. A library. It was just a library. With perfectly harmless mages just perusing perfectly harmless books and… every time someone opened one, Miraak _flinched._

In the end, Lucien sat him down at a table, cleared all the nearby books and left them in the reshelving bay, and went to talk to the Librarian for him. 

The Librarian seemed to be an elderly Orc, and he didn’t seem pleased with Lucien, who actually yelped, but before Miraak needed to go over there, the Orc left and returned with some books, and Lucien bounced back to Miraak.

“Well! He was… firm? He says this place is his own personal realm of Oblivion and if we hurt the books, he’ll have us torn apart by angry Atronachs. So… if you could not spill mead on them?”

Miraak promised, and steeling himself, opened the Pocket Guide.

Nothing happened. No Daedric horrors summoned, nothing dragging him to a different plane. Just words on a page. Why he’d thought it might be anything else, he didn’t know. But it was just a book, and despite the obvious pro-Nordic human bias, it was interesting. There was a whole section on the Tongues, human masters of the Voice, and on the Greybeards of the Throat of the World, and from what Miraak could tell, the part on the Voice was accurate. He could do most of that and call someone by Shouting their name… yes, he thought he could do that as well. Only it would take any normal human some time to arrive, surely? Maybe it might work in the same town or settlement. Perhaps he could work out how to call Lucien!

Lo. Sah. In. Deception, phantom, master, no, didn’t suit him at all. Damn it. He’d need to get creative.

Lah, magicka? Laas, life? Either of those would work. Sah didn’t, but zah, finite, might. The last syllable took rather more work but eventually he came up with something. LAH-ZAH-YUN. Magicka finite new. Perfect for a trainee mage.

Perhaps eventually Miraak would honour name him. But that was for the future. For the present, there was background information on Saarthal available, a potential new Thu’um to summon Lucien if need be, and information on these mysterious Greybeards too.

“Do they really never speak?” Miraak had to ask. 

“Apparently,” Lucien said, glancing up at him with a smile. “The bits on the Voice got your attention, eh? Thought they might. Have to say, that was the sum total of my knowledge of the Voice before I met you. You are nothing like I expected. I thought Masters of the Voice couldn’t even talk in case it destroyed something. Then there’s you, and your voice is… even when you’re talking, it’s got this power to it, you know? But I’ve never yet seen you destroy anything with it. I get the feeling it’s completely under your control.”

“It is,” Miraak said thoughtfully. “Lucien, at some point we’re visiting these Greybeards. I have questions. About things I should know but don’t. Also I am going to learn how to shout your name so I can call you. I have decided.”

“You can’t just use the sphere??” Lucien sighed. “Does it actually summon me, or can I decide not to come?”

“It doesn’t say,” Miraak said, glancing back at the book. “I will need to try it! Don’t look so shocked. I believe you will hear it, but I think you are called, rather than summoned. You’re not brought by force.”

“No, I just get Shouted for every five minutes until I turn up,” Lucien said pointedly, lowering the imperial report he was reading to glare at Miraak.

“You know me well,” Miraak laughed, leaning closer, cheek resting on one of his hands. “Niid faas. I will restrict the harassment to the sphere messages. The Shout is merely to make sure you think to check it.”

“You have got to be the most self-important…” Lucien said, shaking his head. “Here, read the report. I made notes! Look, here are the bits indicating that the elves were after something specific and left most of the city intact. I mean, even your book indicates elves and humans lived in harmony for years before the fighting. What changed?”

“I don’t know,” Miraak said thoughtfully, looking over Lucien’s notes. “I don’t remember anything. But… maybe I was there. I don’t know, Lucien. But this is useful to know and will definitely help tomorrow.”

He glanced up, seeing Lucien beaming at being told he’d been useful and had helped. Interesting. He liked being complimented on achievements, not just for being him.

Miraak really didn’t need Lucien to impress him. He already cared for the young man just for being the engaging, captivating, enthusiastic little ray of sunshine he was. But he did make a mental note to fuss over him for achievements as well.

“We have things to look out for now, don’t we,” Miraak said, smiling. “Things I would not otherwise have known of. Thank you, goraaniik. I’m very glad to have you with me.”

He turned on his most beguiling smile and leaned closer, and Lucien went bright pink.

“Goodness! I mean… is it hot in here?”

Miraak sat back, pleased. Yes. Good. An excellent start. Patience would be required. But eventually, Lucien would fall into his arms. He was sure of that, if nothing else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Later that night, and Lucien was tucked up in bed in his new College room. Alone. Not wearing anything apart from underwear because his Legion nightwear was in the College’s laundry. It really was nice being somewhere civilised that had laundry facilities and proper showers and baths.

But Saviik wasn’t here. No, Miraak, he supposed he’d better get used to the name. All the same, Saviik the mercenary was a friendly, caring face that Lucien could never get tired of. Miraak the reborn First Dragonborn was something else, something far more frightening.

But neither was here and Lucien felt… off. Something was wrong. Saviik’s measured breathing should be coming from the floor next to him, and the undefinable sense of another human nearby in case of trouble.

Neither was the case and with the door closed, Lucien felt very alone. 

Next to the bed, the Resonant Sphere vibrated, and Lucien flipped it open with unseemly haste.

_Lucien r u alright?_

Yes of course he was. Why would Miraak worry about him of all things?

_Yes fine used to this. Slept alone the rest of my life haven’t I._

There were a pause while Lucien mentally processed what he’d just told Saviik who he’d been trying to impress and probably just failed completely at and then the response came in.

_< 3<3<3 but that is ridiculous, you are pretty, someone must have shown interest!_

Well, using symbols and numbers to form little hearts of sympathy was kind of him. Still didn’t make Lucien want to do anything but hide under the blankets forever though.

The sphere buzzed again.

_Lucien krosis I hope I didn’t offend you._

Oh gods, now Miraak was worrying.

_It’s fine. Don’t worry. Talk of something else? Terrible at romance but not your problem._

No response for what seemed like a long time, and then finally the response came.

_As you wish._

Then another response.

_You r comfy? You r well? Warm enough?_

Just about, but stealing the fur rug off the floor helped a lot. When he told Miraak this, the response was surprisingly tetchy.

_Not warm enough then. Lucien, can dress, get mattress, blankets and pillows off bed here and be over there in 20 minutes. Can build nest. Keep u warm!_

What. He wouldn’t. 

Of course he would, Lucien wasn’t even sure why he’d be surprised by this point, Saviik fussed constantly. Saviik storming over with half the bed under his arm to build a nest and cuddle him in it was par for the course by now. It was almost tempting.

Muscled arms round him, chest hair under his face, deep pressure of Saviik around him and on top of him and…

Lucien was hard, very hard, and his brain was helpfully providing him with images and… no no no, this would not do at all. Miraak was just offering comfort and warmth, he definitely would not want Lucien rubbing up against him like some hormonal teenager.

_It’s fine! Really! Don’t need you to come over!_

_R u sure?_

Yes. Yes he was sure.

_It’s fine. Really. I’m a big boy now! Can look after myself!_

There was a long pause before the response came.

_I have never begrudged tending to you, my Lucien. But I will respect your wishes. Sleep well, dremvulon._

Lucien wished him the same and put the sphere away, pulling blankets over his head. Well, that had been… intense? No change there then, Saviiik was an intense sort of person. Lucien thought back over Miraak’s story. The man had been alone in Apocrypha for over four thousand years. Even if Saviik remembered none of that, he must have been lonely. And Miraak was – had been – a proud man loath to admit weakness. A Dragon Priest maybe couldn’t afford to.

Perhaps Saviik had been the one who needed a cuddle. Perhaps Lucien should have said yes to him coming over. Perhaps… no, there was still the inconvenient erection problem. Saviik might want a cuddle but he would likely not be pleased at Lucien going all peculiar over him.

No, no, best to keep a distance. But… it occurred to Lucien that his problems shouldn’t stop Saviik getting his needs met. He’d just need to be careful, that was all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul:
> 
> Drem - peace, also used in Dovahzul as a means of calming someone down or urging patience or restraint.
> 
> Dremvulon - literally peace-night, what a Dovahzul speaker might say to someone to wish them goodnight or pleasant dreams.
> 
> In addition to the main questline, I am also thinking Lucien is the one getting hit up with apprentice favours, because he's just not as scary as Miraak, although Miraak will definitely be involved in the resolutions. Meanwhile Miraak gets tapped for the Ritual Spells for the three schools he could plausibly claim to be expert level in - Tolfdir is already lining him up for Kahvozein's Fang retrieval.
> 
> The romance proceeds! Slow burn af because Lucien is clueless in these things, Miraak has realised he's completely inexperienced and oblivious and is rethinking his entire approach, and let's just say I hope you're not reading this for sex scenes because it's Gonna Be A While. Working out when to call him Miraak and when to call him Saviik is tricky too, but I'll get used to it. I guess Saviik is going to mutate into Lucien's little pet name for him while Miraak's the given name for everyone else.
> 
> Cicero is fine, on his way, but has been a bit held up - apparently it takes some time to organise two children on the road to anywhere, who knew. Also he ended up accompanying them out of Eastmarch as far as the Nightgate and stayed the night with them there.


	6. Terrible at Romance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning of the Saarthal dig and everyone's ready to go - even if Lucien does have to spend half the morning trying to convince the other apprentices that he's not Saviik's partner. The dig itself goes smoothly enough, until Lucien accidentally pulls an amulet off the wall, with consequences for both him and Saviik - not least when it turns out that the only person who didn't see romantic intentions between him and Saviik was Lucien himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mages' questline under way, and Miraak's subtly shifting into a mentoring role for all the apprentices, plus really getting to enjoy the whole academia thing. He's more likely to end up as Archmage rather than Lucien, and it'll be interesting seeing him grow into the actual logical choice in Mirabelle's absence.

Breakfast in the Hall of Attainment and it felt lonely on his own. Saviik should be here, asking how he’d slept, talking about the day ahead or just encouraging Lucien to talk.

But no. Lucien had bathed in silence, dressed in silence, gone to the Hall’s breakfast table in silence and… it had felt very very lonely.

And then Onmund, the young Nord apprentice, had arrived, surprised to see Lucien there.

“Oh! You’re here!”

“I’m having breakfast. Shouldn’t I be?” Lucien asked, suddenly on edge. Oh gods, had he done something wrong already??

“No, it’s fine, only we thought you’d be in with Miraak in the Hall of Countenance,” Onmund said, taking a seat. “Seeing as you arrived together and all.”

“No, no, I’m in here,” Lucien said, confused. “Honestly, I’m barely apprentice level magic-wise and he’s a terrifying battlemage. I can see why they’d separate us if the accommodation is by skill level.”

“That’s true but they usually put married couples in together,” Onmund said, his turn to look confused and then he glanced at Lucien’s ringless hand. “Or even not-married ones.”

Why would that… wait, what?

“We’re not a couple!” Lucien protested, face flushing scarlet. “He’s never shown the slightest bit of interest in me!”

“If you’re not a couple, fine, but I don’t believe that second part,” Onmund said, disbelieving. “He was all over you yesterday. Going out of his way not to hurt you. The cuddling. The way he was looking at you. Listen, it’s not my place, I know. But… you might want to talk to him about it.”

Lucien went very quiet, brain grinding to a halt as it processed this information and promptly went into denial.

Saviik was not interested. The First Dragonborn would never look twice at someone like him. Nords were just… friendly, that was all. Prone to hugging. Saviik was being a mother hen. Saviik cared and fussed, yes but he wasn’t _interested._ Lucien did not inspire romantic feelings in other people, he’d come to accept that, and part of him was secretly relieved. What would he even do with a girlfriend anyway.

He resolutely refused to imagine what he might get up to with Saviik in his arms.

“Hello Onmund, are you ready for Saarthal today? Oh! Lucien, you’re here!”

Brelyna, and it was very clear from her expression that she’d thought him and Saviik were an item as well.

“Saviik is not my boyfriend, we’re just friends, he’s just overprotective by nature and a bit friendly. You know how Nords are, always hugging!”

Brelyna looked at Onmund, sceptical and Onmund shook his head.

“We don’t hug that much!” Onmund said, shaking his head. “I was telling Lucien that.”

Pitying looks from the pair of them, and Lucien stared at his tea, giving up on this line of conversation.

“So!” he said firmly. “Saarthal! First city of humans on Skyrim! Who’s looking forward to it? I am!”

Brelyna lit up at once, clearly keen to talk about it.

“I am so looking forward to it!” she enthused. “So much better than sitting around talking about magic!”

“I’m not!” Onmund snapped. “I’m certain no one in authority approved this expedition. I bet the Jarl knows nothing about it!”

“The Jarl hates magic and would happily see the entire College at the bottom of the sea,” Brelyna said, rolling her eyes. “There’s no point asking him anything.”

Onmund had to concede that at least, and he was at least a little curious to see where his ancestors might have lived.

“True enough,” Onmund sighed. “There’s barely a Nord anywhere that actually cares about magic. At least your friend Miraak’s here now. It’s something to have another Nord around. I know there’s Master Tolfdir but he’s always going on about the need for safety and control and hardly ever teaches anything. Maybe Miraak will start giving lessons.”

“He’s more of a researcher, but you never know!” Lucien said, feeling for Onmund. It was very obvious he was far from home and his family probably didn’t approve of him coming. “He’s been giving me lessons. He says it’s easier to protect me if I can protect myself a bit.”

Knowing looks were exchanged between Onmund and Brelyna, and then J’zargo appeared. Wonderful.

“Ahh, the Flavius boy is with us, not his Nordic guard dog. This is good, yes? You will never flourish in his shadow. Has he taught you the Expert-level Destruction spells yet?”

“What? No! I’d barely know where to start!” Lucien cried. J’zargo slid onto the bench, cackling.

“You see, he works to keep you in his shadow. He does not like the competition.”

“It’s not like that! He’s starting with the basics,” Lucien sighed. “Not everything is a competition, you know.”

“Ahhh, my Imperial friend,” J’zargo laughed. “The only way you could think that is if you were so far behind you cannot even see the other competitors.”

“J’zargo,” Brelyna sighed. “Ugh, don’t listen to him, Lucien. He’s always like this. You learn at your own pace, you’ll get there eventually. That’s what I like about this College, the pressure to succeed isn’t as sharp. You’re allowed to learn and grow with no expectations. Not like home.”

“Morrowind’s competitive?” Lucien asked.

“House Telvanni is,” Brelyna said bitterly. “My family are a long bloodline of Telvanni mages and wanted me to be the best. I just want to learn, I don’t want to think about what’s expected of me back home.”

“I was just expected to be a hunter or farmer, like my father,” Onmund said, staring at his meal and stabbing a sausage rather harder than was warranted. “They told me I was going to get myself killed if I came here. I left on bad terms. This has to work out or… I don’t really have a home to go back to.”

Silence and then Brelyna asked Lucien what his family were like. Lucien, with two doting parents who both loved him for who he was, felt a bit embarrassed to answer.

“My mother’s not a mage, not really. She’s ex-Legion. She knows a little healing magic but not a lot else. My father does know some but he’s a relic hunter, not a wizard. Prefers fieldwork to the ivory tower. Neither wanted me to come north, but in the end they let me go. They could see how much it meant to me. Part of me’s thinking I should have listened and stayed in Cyrodiil. But then I would never have met Saviik or come here! It’s all worked out.”

“I wish I had parents like that,” Brelyna and Onmund said in unison. J’zargo just sniffed.

“Ah, parental approval is overrated. Excel and do better than they are. Then it will not matter if they approve or not.”

“Thanks. I think,” Brelyna said, eyeing the Khajiit carefully. Lucien just shook his head. His mother was never going to really understand his scientific discoveries but would love him anyway, and his father would be proud of anything Lucien managed to invent. He never really realised how lucky this made him.

Then there was Saviik who didn’t even remember his family, and Miraak’s kin would be dead, of course. He wondered if Miraak’s parents had been proud of him joining the Dragon Cult. He supposed he’d never know… but he suspected Miraak might well agree with J’zargo, if he could only remember his past.

Breakfast finally done and it was time to gather in the courtyard. Tolfdir was already there, having an animated conversation with Saviik, who was in his new dark brown Adept robes rather than his armour.

“It is not actually made of a dragon’s tooth?” Saviik was saying, sounding fascinated.

“No, at least I don’t think so,” Tolfdir said, shaking his head. “I believe it was a metaphorical name. But the Dragon Priest who wielded it sharpened it so often it was said to be nearly as sharp as one. If you could find me that dagger and use it to retrieve some dragon heartscales, I would very much appreciate it. The first copy of the spell is yours as a reward. You also get to keep the dagger of course.”

“Ah, how can I resist?” Saviik laughed. “Yes, I will hunt this Dragon Priest for you. I could do with a fight that is actually a challenge!”

“Of course you do,” Tolfdir said, eyes twinkling. “Just remember that you’re only human. I will think no less of you if you’re unable to retrieve it.”

“I _will_ retrieve it,” Saviik said firmly. Oh good. Saviik was already on a mission. Lucien just hoped he didn’t overreact to Tolfdir worrying about him. Fortunately, Saviik clearly didn’t believe in harassing old men, because he collected himself and stepped back, hearing footsteps and looking up and seeing the four apprentices.

His eyes fell on Lucien and he broke out into that brilliant smile Lucien had learned to really really like, except now Lucien was feeling really self-conscious, not to mention aware of the other three staring at him. 

No wonder they’d got the wrong impression.

“Lucien, you’re here!” Saviik laughed. “I have us a mission after we’re finished with Saarthal. It is a visit to a Dragon Priest lair out in the Reach! We are looking for a dagger sharp enough to carve the heartscales off a dragon.”

And no doubt then go hunting for a dragon. Wonderful. Lucien dreaded it already. Obviously the experience would be incredible but… scary Dragon Priest in a Scary Dungeon filled with shambling undead, and then go fight a dragon. There was nothing non-frightening about this scenario.

“That’s marvellous, Saviik. You don’t mind if I stand behind you, do you?”

“I would have it no other way,” Saviik laughed, still smiling. Behind him, Lucien became aware of distinct mumbling.

“Wait, how come we don’t get to go on dangerous field trips to Dragon Priest lairs?” Brelyna interrupted.

“Because there is a strong chance of you getting injured or killed and I have no wish to have my group of apprentices go the same way Phinis’s did,” Tolfdir said, kindliness slipping. “I’m not entirely sure Lucien should be going, but Miraak here has assured me he will supervise the situation and deal with any problems. And that Lucien has gone investigating Nordic ruins with him before and survived none the worse for wear.”

Cheerful smile from Miraak, and even though he didn’t remember being a Dragon Priest himself, it was clear that he did not fear the Dragon Cult’s remains.

Handy seeing as they were off to Saarthal.

There was grumbling, and J’zargo muttered that he could fight a Dragon Priest, and Miraak glanced over and simply smiled, electing to do nothing about it. And then it was off to Saarthal, Lucien falling in next to Miraak out of habit.

“Looking forward to the dig?” Lucien had to ask. Keep the conversation light, keep it friendly, definitely do not remind him about accidentally revealing he was a complete romantic failure. Ironically, Lucien left to himself would take a good library over a girlfriend any day, but everyone else seemed to expect he’d get married at some point.

Mercifully Saviik had said not a thing on the topic and didn’t revisit it now.

“Do you know, I actually am,” Saviik said, seeming surprised. “I no longer believe I have living kin to find… but I want to know about the dead ones. I could do this, you know? Stay here. Study at this College. Find dangerous artefacts the others lack the skill or strength to. Not that Tolfdir lacks skill, but he is an old man. He does not need to endure the rigours of the road or all the fighting at his age.”

“You’ll be an old man one day,” Lucien pointed out.

“Yes, and then I shall put my feet up and send younger mages out to fetch things for me,” Saviik said, shaking his hair back and looking more carefree than Lucien had seen him yet. “J’zargo will be an all-powerful battlemage by then, he can go.”

“I will be Archmage and have minions of my own, Miraak Saviik,” J’zargo warned, but he didn’t seem offended.

Miraak laughed, not doubting this. And so they left the College, heading for the wilds of Saarthal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

“Look! A snowflake! Look! Another snowflake!”

“This one is surprised by a place called Winterhold having snow?” J’zargo snapped, feeling the cold despite his fur. Lucien just laughed, hood down and not seeming to care a storm might be on the way.

“It’s pretty!” Lucien laughed. “I love snow, it’s just so… snowy!”

“You have clearly never been in a blizzard,” Saviik remarked. Lucien’s delight was cute, it was true. But it could also get him killed in the wrong circumstances.

Never mind. Saviik knew how to shout a blizzard away. Not worth bothering with often but he’d do it if Lucien was in trouble.

Then Onmund sent off a firebolt, with Brelyna joining him, and it appeared a troll was lumbering into view.

“FUS RO DAH!”

The troll was flung back, over the edge of a crevasse, and would bother them no more.

“Was that the Voice??” Onmund gasped, turning to face him.

“Yes it was,” Saviik said, feeling rather pleased with himself. “I did tell you I’d studied the Dragon Cult.”

“But the Voice… hardly anyone has that!” Onmund gasped, impressed. “Were you a Greybeard? Like Jarl Ulfric?”

“Perhaps,” Saviik said, not wanting to discuss his past with anyone just yet. Not until he had more definite answers. Lucien was his confidant. No one else. “Don’t fear. I will not be using it on anyone in the College. I am not as hungry for power as he seems to be.”

Possibly not entirely true… but Saviik had asked himself that question repeatedly, and been surprised to realise he didn’t desire leadership per se… but intensely disliked being told what to do. Perhaps these were new traits. Perhaps Miraak learning from his mistakes and growing as a person. Saviik didn’t know. He didn’t even remember committing all Miraak’s crimes. But he’d been brought back and that had to be for a reason, even if that wasn’t obvious yet. For now, he could focus on uncovering more of what was.

Saarthal proved to be hidden away in a valley, and the excavation had been going on for a while, judging from the digging and scaffolding already in place, and the retrieved artefacts all on display outside. Tolfdir led them all down to the main doorway, waiting for them all to gather before leading them inside.

Narrow, easily defensible passage leading in. Must have flowed with blood back during the invasion. It hadn’t stopped the elves in the end, or Ysgramor’s returning troops, and Tolfdir alluded to the battles as he led them into the opening antechamber.

“As some of you may know, Saarthal was one of the earliest Nord settlements in Skyrim. It was also the largest. Sacked by the elves in the infamous "Night of Tears," not much is known about what happened to Saarthal. This is an exciting opportunity for us. To be able to study such an early civilization, and the magics they used…”

“There is no chance anyone in authority approved this excavation,” Onmund muttered. “Our ancestors should be allowed to rest in peace.”

“There might be some of mine here too,” Brelyna said softly. “To think of elves and humans just killing each other and for what?”

“Maybe this excavation will offer answers,” Saviik said, feeling for Onmund. “I did some background reading in preparation. The traditional legends speak of the elves relentlessly slaughtering innocent humans, but a previous dig indicated the violence was a lot more targeted. As if the elves were seeking something. I wish to know what that was. Look for signs of violence, and for what was left untouched. Particularly obviously strategic or important things left unharmed and the seemingly unimportant ransacked.”

“You’re a Nord too!” Onmund snapped. “How can you be just so detached over this?? Our ancestors died here!”

Saviik’s sympathy was still there but his patience was not endless, and a hand clamped on Onmund’s shoulder, spinning him around.

“My past is tied to the Dragon Cult in a way you cannot imagine,” Saviik hissed. “My family traced its line to a Dragon Priest on Solstheim who’d been a prodigy with the Thu’um. I turned out to have his gifts too. His name was Miraak and I took it in his honour because his story is not well known. Forgotten by all save my clan. I’m the last of them. I study the Dragon Cult because I wish concrete knowledge in addition to the stories I was told. I do what I do to _honour_ my ancestors, not desecrate them! How can I honour what I don’t know or understand? This is why we’re here, Onmund. For truth. If we know what really happened here, maybe we can even try healing relations between elves and humans. A vain thought but it could happen!”

Everyone had gone quiet, Brelyna gasping, and J’zargo looking on curiously, and Tolfdir looking back in alarm, while Lucien whispered his name, saying Saviik, not Miraak, an attempt to call him back to himself.

Onmund stared back, hostility fading as he saw genuine passion in Saviik’s eyes, and Saviik realised he’d perhaps overstepped the mark a bit and backed off a bit, murmuring a quiet krosis.

“The way the Nords of today treat what they don’t understand shames me,” Miraak said quietly. “But I should not take it out on you. You at least are trying.”

“It’s fine,” Onmund said, smoothing out his robes, and then suddenly his eyes slipped to Brelyna. “I never thought of it like that. I mean… that’d be something, wouldn’t it? Helping Nords and elves get along?”

“It’ll take more than one dig to do that,” Brelyna said sceptically, but then she did smile. “But we can try, right?”

“Right!” Onmund gasped, grinning stupidly at Brelyna and then recollecting himself and breaking eye contact, blushing. “I mean, right. Of course.”

Brelyna blinked and then hastily took her leave, following after Tolfdir who’d been watching, surprised… but impressed.

“Are you really descended from a Dragon Priest?” Onmund gasped. Saviik just smiled.

“So they tell me,” he said. “The records have not survived the years. Many of our family were not literate. But I learned Dovahzul without even realising I was doing it, and picked up the Voice instinctively, and my skill at magic is considerable. It could be so. I want to know more, regardless.”

“Weren’t the Dragon Priests evil?” Onmund asked, frowning. Well, yes. But they were only the servants of worse. 

“The Dov likely left them little choice,” Miraak shrugged. “Also they tell me my ancestor rebelled and suffered for it, which is why so few records exist. I do not think an unbiased account of the truth exists any more, but if I cannot have that, I will find whatever I can about my ancestors.”

“You want to tell their stories,” Onmund whispered, finally finding the most Nordic of reasons to care about archaeology. Miraak nodded, deciding to take this as a win.

“Well then, let’s get started!” Onmund laughed, attitude changing completely now he could reconcile the study with his culture. Seeing the others move ahead, he turned to follow after, leaving Miraak with Lucien. 

“I thought you were going to start a fight there!” Lucien whispered.

“Indeed?” Miraak asked, surprised. “Oh. No. It is far more obvious when I am picking a fight. I merely wished to get my point across and I succeeded.” Then he leaned in quietly for the next part.

“Do you think the untruth is forgivable?”

“What else are you going to tell him?” Lucien whispered back. “That you were a Dragon Priest who survived millennia in a Daedric realm, then died and came back? That just makes you sound insane. I mean, you’ve got him thinking, right? About Nords and magic and honouring his ancestors by studying them and telling their stories. I’d never have thought of that!”

Miraak patted Lucien on the back.

“He needed to hear it from a fellow Nord, I think,” Miraak said softly. “And until I said it, I did not fully realise I believed it. I do want to uncover more of the history. I remember nothing. I want to learn of my lost heritage. And I want to know for sure it wasn’t always so, that magic was revered and Nords could live in harmony with others. Does that make me a hopeless idealist, Lucien?”

“I don’t think Miraak the Dragon Priest was one of those,” Lucien said, taking his hand and smiling. “But I’d like Nords living in harmony and respecting learning too. Maybe it’ll happen one day. I hope so.”

Miraak squeezed Lucien’s hand, breath catching in his throat as he saw Lucien smiling up at him and before he knew it, he was reaching out to touch Lucien’s cheek, leaning in, the desire for Nords to live in harmony with others having a rather self-interested motive at heart, and he wanted more than anything to have Lucien in particular know it.

At least until Tolfdir called them back, and Miraak recollected himself, backing off and motioning for Lucien to follow.

Lucien closed his eyes and breathed softly, somehow glad of the respite… but the sudden weight of disappointment in his heart surprised him.

Saviik being all intense really should bother him. It really should. It was giving rise to untrue assumptions and unwanted comments and he should tell him to stop. But he really didn’t want to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Time to assign jobs, and Lucien got given the task of artefact cataloguing with one Arniel Gane. Fine, he could do that. He’d done similar before back in Cyrodiil. So off he went. Rounding up magical artefacts.

It took a bit of searching but he found three of them, enchanted rings that made you a bit harder to kill. Left here. Just abandoned. Worn by who? Elves or Nords? They looked a bit too chunky to be elven. So Nordic then? But not on a Nordic corpse’s fingers. Had they fallen off? Or been left here? But why leave behind something that might keep you safe in a fight? Almost as if they’d left the rings here when the fighting was done.

Why would they just take clearly valuable rings off and leave them? Lucien could only think that perhaps they’d needed other rings to wear instead and couldn’t have the enchantments clash? And forgotten them? What on earth for, he had no idea. Maybe they were nothing to do with the fighting at all. What was down here worth fighting over after all?

And yet the elves had been after something specific, not standard military conquest. Maybe it was hidden down here. Maybe in this little antechamber?

Lucien was to be disappointed. All that was there was an amulet hanging on the wall. Definitely Nordic, this. Enchanted but not very strongly if Lucien was any judge. But it was an enchantment and so Tolfdir might be interested. Reaching up, Lucien took it off the wall.

The sound of bars closing behind him told him he’d made a terrible mistake. Whipping around, Lucien saw his way in sealed, and not all the rattling at the bars was going to shift these any time soon.

“No,” Lucien gasped. “Nonononono! NO! Saviik! SAVIIK!”

Quite when his first instinct when in trouble had become to scream for Saviik was not something Lucien cared to think about, but instinct it was and Saviik heard. Breaking away from the conversation he’d been having with Tolfdir, the First Dragonborn practically flew across Saarthal’s walkways in his hurry to get to Lucien.

Lucien heard footsteps hitting the ground hard and then Miraak barrelled round the corner, barely breaking a sweat, shouting Lucien’s name before deploying his Thu’um.

“FEIM ZII GRO!”

Miraak shimmered into a spirit form and Lucien stepped back in surprise, and then astonishment as Miraak _phased through the bars_ and swept Lucien into his arms, shifting back into solidity as he did so.

“Are you all right?” Miraak gasped, and Lucien realised he was shaking. “You are not hurt? What happened?”

“I took an amulet off the wall and got stuck here,” Lucien confessed. “Oh, but now you’re stuck here too!”

“No, I can use that shout to get us both out of here, I just need to recover my breath first,” Miraak, said, allowing himself a little pride in that. “Show me this amulet.”

Lucien handed it over and Miraak was examining it as Tolfdir arrived.

“What in the world was that?? Was that the Voice??”

“Yes,” Miraak said proudly. “I said I could do it. Lucien got trapped here after he took an amulet off the wall. What do you make of this? It looks Nordic.”

“Fascinating,” Tolfdir breathed, looking at it carefully. “The enchantment is a trivial one… but I think it may have been stronger once. As if its power has been fuelling a spell of some sort for years. What happens when you wear it?”

Miraak took it back, inspecting it, sensing the magical signature and it wasn’t his own but… it felt familiar somehow. As if he’d met the mage who enchanted it.

Never before had he had more cause to regret the amnesia. But he could do little about it other than wear the thing and see what happened.

He’d not expected the magical resonance between him and the wall.

“Wow!” Lucien gasped. “Look at that! It’s reacting to the wall! That’s the bit I took it off.”

“Amazing!” Tolfdir cried. “What effect do your spells have?”

Good question. One lightning bolt later and they had their answer. The bars sunk into the floor, much to Lucien’s relief, and the wall exploded, a thin layer of stone collapsing to reveal a tunnel beyond.

Miraak stared at the tunnel. Rough-hewn, put in in a hurry, not intended for general use… maybe not intended to be used at all. Where it led was anyone’s guess, but it had clearly been sealed for a reason, and Miraak could sense the remnants of the magic. Yes, the amulet was the key but taking it off the wall without the proper spells being cast first trapped you in here… but the amulet also had a failsafe built in, presumably if someone got trapped who needed freeing. Keyed to a specific energy. A very specific energy and a quick diagnostic spell granted a vision of fire, dragons, and a dragon’s voice shouting a Thu’um – AH-ZI-DAL.

Miraak shook his head, trying to clear his head. Ahzidal, Ahzidal, he knew that name. He just didn’t know how. It wasn’t his name, but the amulet’s failsafe rescue trigger somehow recognised Miraak as someone authorised to use it. Which meant Ahzidal might well have been a Dragon Priest who’d authorised his fellow priests to activate the emergency seal.

That made Miraak feel extremely uncomfortable but it had got them out of here. Even if Lucien was staring down the tunnel, delighted, and Tolfdir was staring at it too and whispering ‘my word!’ and…

They were exploring the secret sealed away tunnel, weren’t they.

Yes they were, Tolfdir was already making his way down it, exclaiming how fascinating this all was and why was it sealed away like this? And Lucien, sweet precious Lucien, was following along quite happily.

“Do you think we’ll find hidden secrets of the Dragon Cult, Tolfdir?”

Miraak remembered nothing of the Dragon Cult but he could already sense that no secret of the Dragon Cult was one you’d ever want to uncover. Cursing under his breath, Miraak went after the pair of them.

The tunnel led out into a small room empty apart from the central table and three stone coffins on the other walls. Strange. Nothing remarkable here so why go to such lengths to hide it… oh.

Grey light as Miraak _felt_ time come to a grinding halt, strong magic setting his senses alive and it tried to stop him too, but he was having none of that.

“ _Niid!_ ” Miraak growled, shaking it off and looking for Lucien. He was fine, staring up at the figure that had just appeared behind the altar. A golden-skinned elf in yellow mage robes.

“Hold, mage, and listen well!” the elf announced. “Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped.”

“Oh gods,” Lucien gasped. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! It was an accident, I swear! Tolfdir and Miraak will tell you that, won’t they – what did you do to Tolfdir??”

Tolfdir was frozen in place, caught by the time magic. The time magic Miraak had shrugged off without too much effort.

“You have taken us out of time, elf,” Miraak growled, stepping up to Lucien’s side, protective hand on his back. “Why.”

The elf blinked, alarmed.

“You were supposed to be caught by the spell! Wait… my goodness. You’re… your aura! It’s like a dragon’s. You’re a Dragonborn! And not just any Dragonborn. You were supposed to be dead. No, you were dead, weren’t you. It’s in your aura. Powerful Aedric influence. No power short of the Divines could have rescued you, Miraak. And yet here you are.”

Miraak stared at the elf, nausea welling up as someone else confirmed it was true, it was all true, he was the former Dragon Priest turned traitor turned Daedric pawn turned monster turned… he didn’t know what now. But he had questions for this elf.

“Who are you. How do you know who I am. And what do you want with Lucien? He’s under my protection.”

“Nerien of the Psijic Order, and the tale of Miraak is one known to us,” Nerien said, intrigued. “We were aware of your attempt to return to Solstheim. And we heard your fellow Dragonborn ended you. Yet here you are, and no sign of Daedric corruption. Instead your aura’s practically radiating Aedric interference. So bright I can barely look at you. You’ve been reborn and an Aedric force did it. The only explanation I can think of is your father Akatosh having mercy. I don’t know why. But you are here so there must be a reason. In fact…”

He turned back to Lucien, appraising him carefully.

“You are young but untrained… but you have potential. You were the one who took the amulet. Miraak broke the seal… but he did it to rescue you. And only a Dragon or Dragon Priest could have used the amulet to escape. And a strange fate indeed brought him here. Destiny is at work here but even we cannot say exactly how this will unfold. But know this – you have set in motion events that cannot be stopped, and only you can prevent disaster. Judgement has not been passed yet, as you had no way of knowing. Judgement will be passed on your actions to come.”

“Judgement? What judgement?” Lucien cried. “What’s going to happen?”

“You will find out,” Nerien said, illuminating nothing. “We give you this warning because the Psijic Order believes in you. Take care, both of you, and know that the Order is watching.”

Nerien vanished, light came back and Tolfdir started, shaking his head.

“I swear I felt something rather strange just then. What happened?”

“A Psijic monk appeared, stopped time, spoke to us to tell us something bad was going to happen then vanished!” Lucien cried, and Miraak could kiss Lucien for not mentioning the whole brought back by Akatosh part.

“The Psijic Order? Are you quite sure about that?” Tolfdir said, frowning. “That's very odd. And danger ahead? Why that doesn't make any sense at all. The Psijics have no connection to these ruins. And no one's seen any of their order in a long time. Their home on the Isle of Artaeum disappeared over a hundred years ago, and no one has seen them since. And yet now, suddenly, they have chosen to contact you?”

“Yes!” Lucien gasped. “I mean, it’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“It’s certainly intriguing,” Tolfdir agreed. “What do you think, Miraak? Have you had any encounters with the Psijics before?”

“Not that I know of,” Miraak said, entirely truthfully. “I… admit I have no idea what is going on. But breaking into this chamber has set events in motion that could lead to disaster. Allegedly.”

“But don’t worry, Saviik here will deal with it!” Lucien said brightly. “He’s not scared of anything!”

Miraak opened his mouth then closed it again, because while it wasn’t true, he wasn’t going to start pointing out all his flaws to Lucien either.

“I shall endeavour to deal with the coming crisis when it happens,” Miraak said, arm round Lucien. “Still, perhaps we might all be vigilant?”

“Indeed,” Tolfdir said, already looking around the room. “It must be connected with this chamber somehow, but there’s very little here. I wonder what’s in these coffins…”

“No!” Miraak and Lucien both cried, remembering full well what tended to lurk behind the lids of those things, and sure enough, two of the lids crashed to the floor and two Draugr stepped out.

“Help Tolfdir,” Miraak sighed, going for the one that wasn’t attacking the Alteration master. Lucien actually saluted, saying ‘sir, yes sir!’ before going in with dual-cast flames, burning hotter than Miraak remembered seeing, which meant he’d been paying attention to Miraak’s lessons.

That was rather gratifying but not as gratifying as punching a hole through the other Draugr with his lightning magic.

Miraak stared down at its smoking remains, feeling ridiculously pleased with himself and went to see how the others were doing. He was just in time to see Lucien’s magicka run out and Lucien switching to his blade instead and burying it in the Draugr’s stomach.

“Hah! Get in there!” Miraak laughed. “You have done well, fahdoni! See, I told you you had bravery.”

“Bravery??” Lucien gasped. “I was terrified the whole time!”

“Yes, and you still triumphed,” Miraak said proudly. “Well done.”

Lucien’s brilliant smile caught him completely offguard and Miraak could lose himself in those bright blue eyes for hours if he let himself. Lucien was just so responsive to praise. It was a delight to see.

“Goodness, there’s a passage in this one,” Tolfdir was saying, oblivious to the two of them staring at each other. “We must see where this goes.”

Somehow Miraak wrenched his eyes off Lucien and brought his attention back to the present which involved yet another sealed off passageway, which likely also had Draugr at the end of it, and sure enough this turned out to be the case. The chamber at the end, also behind a gate, turned out to be lined with coffins, and four of them had Draugr defenders in there. Easily dispatched. Even Lucien managed one and looked very pleased with himself. Miraak was happy for him, truly.

But above and below were a _lot_ of coffins. This must be the burial place for Saarthal’s many war dead.

“Well that’s creepy,” Lucien said softly.

“It’s a war cemetery, show some respect,” Miraak told him, not taking his eyes off the sheer number. 

“I know and those things are creepy!” Lucien whispered back. “Mum used to take me to visit war memorials and war dead cemeteries all the time as a kid! Creepy! It’s too quiet, and you get told off for making noise and wandering off and playing with the grave displays and… I know a lot of people died but I really didn’t like the places and that’s without having to worry about corpses bursting out of the coffins and trying to kill us!”

Miraak looked up at the hundreds of coffins built into the towering vault that was the ceiling, then down again at the equally intimidating number under the grille they were standing on, and suddenly saw Lucien’s point.

It was a quick decision to move on. Surprisingly, Tolfdir elected to remain behind to study the cemetery chamber in more detail. 

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Miraak had to ask. 

“Oh, I’ll be fine,” Tolfdir said, eyes not leaving the coffins. “Why don’t you go on ahead with young Lucien, see if you can find whatever the Psijics mentioned. But if it truly is dangerous, be careful!”

It definitely would be, and Miraak shot anxious looks at Lucien, who had that firm look on his face and was almost certainly going to salute again given the chance.

“We will be,” Miraak promised, hand on Lucien’s shoulder. “Lucien. Stay behind me.”

Lucien looked as if he was about to say sir, yes sir again but saw Miraak’s expression and changed his mind.

So on they went, through another set of gates that required unsealing and then they were alone, in a Draugr crypt. No Draugr, thankfully. Just urns, linen wraps and dessicated corpses.

“Miraak.”

Lucien using the actual name for once. That meant things were serious.

“Lucien?”

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“What did you want to talk about,” Miraak sighed. “About the monk? Whoever he was?”

“He was a Psijic, Miraak!” Lucien gasped. “They’re a big deal! They only intervene to speak to those they deem worthy!”

“And they spoke to you. Well done,” Miraak said, proud of Lucien in the abstract but struggling to care in the present, and in all honesty a tiny bit jealous. 

“They spoke to us both, Miraak,” Lucien said, closing the distance and taking his arm, and that was nice of him but not really helping.

“I was supposed to be under the same spell that took Tolfdir,” Miraak sighed. “They did not come for me.”

Lucien’s incredulous reaction came as a surprise, and it did manage to lift his mood.

“Are you joking? You just threw their magic off like it was nothing!” Lucien cried. “One of us is special, all right, and I’m under no illusion it’s me! I’m just the fool who pulled the cursed amulet off the wall and caused all the trouble. You’re the one who’s probably going to end up rescuing me after I do something stupid. And probably going to end up saving everyone else too.”

That… all right, that did have a way of boosting his ego. Lucien had a way of always managing that, and Miraak promptly forgave Lucien everything.

“Do you think so,” Miraak said, allowing himself a small smile. “And did you also believe what he said about me being brought back by the gods themselves for what? A second chance?”

“That… I don’t know about that,” Lucien admitted. “But you must be an extremely powerful mage to have thrown off that spell. Which we both knew, because frankly you’ve demonstrated that repeatedly. But it was time magic. Akatosh is the god of time and of dragons, they’re linked. Because dragons are immortal beings that defy time and apparently that spell didn’t affect you. Because you’re Dragonborn. The First Dragonborn. Miraak. You don’t think that’s exciting?”

“It… has merit,” Miraak said, shrugging. Oh all right, of course it was exciting, but it was counter-balanced by the warning. Of danger to come and something so dire it needed a Dragonborn. Of which there already was one, wasn’t there? They couldn’t have called on her?

But she wasn’t here, might not even be a mage. And here he was instead. Brought back by Akatosh’s grace to do something. He didn’t know what. He imagined he’d find out. Sort out the mess Lucien had started by taking that amulet off the wall.

Which anyone on this dig might have done. Had they not been here, someone else would. It wasn’t Lucien’s fault. And no man of honour left a friend to struggle alone.

“We will talk about this later,” Miraak said, pushing himself away from the urn he’d been leaning against. “We have other things to worry about. Lucien. The gates, the seals. All easy enough to open from the outside but not inside. Tolfdir could lock us in if he wished although I’m sure he won’t.”

“Don’t say that,” Lucien said, shivering. “I don’t like the idea of being stuck down here.”

“No, nor I,” Miraak said, already feeling a bit closed in. “We should keep moving. But think on what that means. This was built to keep something locked in.”

“And we just unsealed it. Bloody hell,” Lucien whispered, face going pale. “Miraak, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

He looked so wretched, something in Miraak shifted, his heart going out to the poor man. No man of honour let a loved one struggle alone, did they now.

Next thing Lucien knew, he was in Miraak’s arms, being held against his chest, those powerful arms holding him tight.

“It is not your fault,” Miraak murmured. “If not you, another would have done it. Onmund maybe. Or Brelyna. Or that bloody Khajiit who was palming things into his pockets nonstop back there.”

“J’zargo wouldn’t – all right, he would,” Lucien admitted. “Oh gods, I wish it had been someone else. Is that bad of me?”

“No,” Miraak said softly, running fingers through Lucien’s hair and massaging his scalp. “Completely normal. But don’t worry. Niid faas. I am here. I will protect you.”

For a moment, Lucien said nothing and stood still, before carefully extricating himself from Miraak’s arms.

“Someone like you shouldn’t need to have to keep protecting someone like me from himself,” Lucien said firmly. “You’re the first bloody Dragonborn, a hero out of legend, practically started the Dragon War! It’s not your job to worry about a nobody like me!”

Yes it bloody was. Miraak growled and shook his head.

“My job is finding out who I really am, why I came back from the dead and what exactly I’m here for,” Miraak snapped. “And you’ve been there the whole time. My companion and my friend. Don’t tell me not to worry. You’re all I…”

 _All I have._ Lucien knew it. Miraak knew it. And Lucien was personally not OK with… well, with being anyone’s sole emotional connection. But especially not Miraak’s, because the intensity was all very nice but at the same time could swallow you whole if you let it.

It was not remotely healthy, and Lucien Flavius, child of loving parents and a warm family home, knew what emotionally healthy relationships were.

“I can’t be the only person you have in your life, that’s not good for either of us!” Lucien whispered.

Miraak said nothing, intense blue eyes not leaving his, and then he nodded once.

“It is not my intent you should be, but you are part of it and I would like you to stay that way,” Miraak said at length. “We are mages of Winterhold, Lucien. There will definitely be other connections. But you’re the one I… you’re the one who brings me happiness. The one I can’t help but protect. Like a mother to her child, hearing you’re in danger will bring me to your side like nothing else. Don’t tell me not to protect you. You’re important to me!”

Flashback to everyone assuming he and Saviik were a couple. To every time Saviik had rushed to his side, from that first meeting to running to his side barely an hour ago when he’d got trapped in that room. To being in his arms only moments ago.

It slowly dawned on Lucien that while he’d been repressing any thoughts of romance with Miraak, firmly denying the possibility that Miraak would ever look twice at someone like him, Miraak had been doing no such thing. The opposite in fact. And Lucien could not deal with that. Not in the slightest.

It was with actual relief that Lucien heard a Draugr from the next chamber.

“Draugr!” Lucien gasped. “We should… deal with that!”

Yes. Yes, they should. Lucien could deal with a Draugr. He absolutely could not deal with Miraak staring at him like that.

Miraak finally broke eye contact, eyes sliding to the direction of the noise and then he nodded.

“Yes. This is not the place. Let’s go.”

Relief. Blessed, blessed relief and Lucien followed after, all ready to deal with undead horrors in a way he just couldn’t with the living. Draugr after Draugr, falling to Miraak’s Thu’um and magic, and Lucien helped! He did! He got in a few blows, distracted one of them before it could get to Miraak. And Miraak took on three at once, Thu’um on one, magic on another, slamming into another one with his war axe. 

_I was misinterpreting it. He can’t possibly be interested. Not like that. Look at him. He’s… beyond impressive. He’s unstoppable._

Lucien heard his name being called only to realise he’d been staring at Miraak for a definitely not respectable amount of time, seeing all that strength and ferocity and feeling literally transfixed by it.

It was not good, it was the opposite of good, because Miraak the First Dragonborn was staring back at him, saying nothing, just this intense gaze meeting Lucien’s.

“You are all right,” Miraak said softly. “You are not hurt? Or afraid?”

Lucien shook his head.

“Never,” Lucien whispered. Not with his saviour here. With Miraak here, you didn’t need to fear anything else. Just the man himself.

Miraak’s lips shifted into a hesitant smile, and then he held out his hand, beckoning Lucien to follow on, saying nothing. They went on in silence, fighting more Draugr, solving a pillar puzzle, taking on one particularly scary Draugr – well, Miraak did. Lucien was more there for distraction and moral support. 

On into the next room and Lucien would have walked straight into a rune trap had Miraak not stopped him, hand on his chest and _right there,_ breathing into his ear.

“No further,” Miraak murmured. “It’ll kill you if you step on it.”

Lucien stepped back, whimpering. Miraak rubbed his chest, smiling, then let him go.

“So how do we get past it?” Lucien whispered. “We can’t jump over or go round it? What about disarming it?”

“I don’t have that skill,” Miraak admitted. “And there is no way round. No. The only way is for one of us to trigger it.”

“But you said that’d kill us!” Lucien cried. Miraak shook his head.

“Niid. I said it would kill _you._ I could survive it, I think. I can ward much of the damage off. But you must stand back.”

“But… Saviik!” Lucien whispered, falling back on the old name as he always did when worried. “You could be hurt!”

“Most likely, yes, but I can heal the wounds,” Miraak said softly, recasting his mage armour. “Stay there. I will live, and you can comfort me after.”

“Comfort…??” Lucien hissed, but it was too late. Miraak’s ward flared into life and Miraak leapt onto the rune.

Lucien staggered back, feeling the explosion from there, hearing Miraak’s cry of pain, and looking up to see him curled up on the floor, smoke rising from him.

“Saviik,” Lucien whispered. “Oh gods. Saviik!”

He ran to Miraak’s side, kneeling at his side, trying out his healing magic… and then Miraak raised his hand and cast his own rather better healing magic and soon he was sitting up, breathing heavily but alive, blessedly alive.

“Saviik,” Lucien gasped, arms round him. “You’re all right. Thank the Eight.”

“Lucien,” came the response as Miraak held on to him. “Gods, Lucien.”

Lucien closed his eyes, not wanting to think about what just happened or Miraak being injured because Miraak was supposed to be an unstoppable force of nature, not… not vulnerable. Not like this.

“Can you walk?” Lucien whispered. “Should I go back and fetch Tolfdir?”

“Ah. No. I mean, don’t fetch Tolfdir. I will be all right, but my magicka reserves are depleted. I need to rest. Then finish healing myself. Then… you will not like the next part. There is another one further along. We will need to repeat the whole thing.”

“What? Miraak! No!” Lucien gasped, appalled. “This nearly killed you! I can’t watch you go through that again!”

Miraak actually laughed. 

“You were worried,” Miraak purred, smiling at Lucien, eyes sparkling and Lucien could feel the temperature rising as Miraak reached to stroke Lucien’s cheek.

“Of course I’m bloody worried, if you die, I’m one Draugr away from following you and I don’t want to die down here!” Lucien cried.

Something in Miraak’s eyes seemed to shift as he said that, and Miraak carefully lowered his hand.

“I see,” Miraak said, and that could be taken any number of ways, and Lucien had the nagging sensation he’d misstepped somehow. Offended him.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien whispered. “I didn’t mean… It’s not just the protection. I’d miss you if you died. I really would.”

Miraak said nothing but his eyes softened and he carefully pulled himself into a sitting position, watching Lucien with interest.

“Lucien. Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course! Fire away!”

“Last night. Over the sphere. You said you were terrible at romance. I didn’t pursue it at the time because it felt like the sort of conversation we should have in person. But… can I ask what you meant?”

Lucien had not expected that and he could feel himself blushing, he knew it, and he should be telling Miraak to get stuffed and refusing to answer this question… but his voice was gentle and he sounded genuinely interested… surprised, even.

“What do you mean?” Lucien asked and Miraak sighed.

“Terrible at romance. What is there to be terrible at? Just lie back and let your admirers fawn over you. Accept the adoration as your due.”

Miraak really didn’t have a clue what Lucien’s life was really like, did he?

“Accept the… Miraak, seriously. Do you know me at all?? No one fawns over me! I don’t have admirers! I try talking to women and it just goes wrong. I never know what to say to them, try talking about science and they end up walking away, bored. As for men… I’m invariably too terrified to say anything and just run away. Or occasionally sit there hoping they don’t notice me pining over them. Needless to say, a successful mating strategy it is not. I’m either boring them rigid or too scared to do anything and they just move on. And I can confidently say absolutely no one – _no one_ – was admiring me. Not that I ever noticed. They certainly weren’t telling me anyway.”

Lucien had moved to sit next to Miraak, their backs against the catacomb wall, neither looking at the other, and Lucien could just about cope with this. It felt comfortable. Natural. Not awkward. Just two friends talking. Lucien able to talk about his deep dark embarrassing secrets and not feel he was being judged.

“No one has ever loved you? Courted you? You have never…?”

All right, now it was awkward.

“No,” Lucien admitted. “Lucien Flavius, awkward virgin, at your service. If you had some sort of vision of me as some smooth-talking Nibenese type, I’m truly not. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Miraak said, voice still surprisingly gentle. “You are young yet. Possibly a little sheltered. I don’t mind. If it helps, I don’t remember having sex with anyone either.”

Lucien looked up, saw him smiling and couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’ve got amnesia. You don’t remember your past life. I bet you weren’t a virgin though. I bet you had loads of people all wanting your attention. A powerful and confident Dragon Priest? I bet you could have had anyone you wanted, and did.”

“No doubt,” Miraak purred. “I think, much like my magic, my body remembers how to do it. The prospect of intimacy doesn’t frighten me.”

“Bloody terrifies me,” Lucien sighed. “It just seems so… complicated. I’m still not entirely sure I see the appeal. All the faff, just for that? I don’t really get it. I realise that makes me a bit weird. I know the Dibellan priests all preach about using your body to honour her with your partner and all consensual acts of love and pleasure being her sacrament but… it just feels weird. And messy. And… I never told anyone this before but I’m not even sure if I want a partner. It’d just get in the way of research.”

Silence from Miraak, and Lucien looked up to see him staring at him, clearly not believing this at all.

“You, a healthy young man in his prime, don’t see the appeal of sex because it would get in the way of your research.”

“Yes!” Lucien said, feeling a little hurt by that. “Research is important, Miraak! Science is important! What’s the point of wasting time on sex and romance when I could be learning something exciting and interesting? Honestly, give me a good library any day.”

“You… would rather have a good library than a partner,” Miraak said, still sounding as if he couldn’t quite wrap his head around this.

Lucien didn’t blame him. It was weird. He’d long accepted this about himself. But it was only now he was beginning to realise there might actually be something wrong with him.

“Yes,” Lucien said softly. “Told you I was bad at romance.”

Silence fell and then Miraak edged closer, robes brushing against Lucien’s.

“If you had to choose between me and a good library, what would you pick?” Miraak murmured.

He was right next to Lucien, lips right by Lucien’s ear, a throaty murmur that did things to Lucien and made his whole body shiver.

“What?” Lucien managed to get out.

“An adventure with me or a huge library full of fascinating books,” Miraak said, practically purring. “Which would you rather have?”

Lucien felt his throat going dry, because he had the sudden sensation this conversation was sliding completely away from him, into a dark and dangerous undertow that could suck them all down.

Slowly and carefully, Lucien moved away to put a bit more space between them.

“That sounds like a very loaded question,” Lucien said quietly. “One I think is going to require a bit of thought on my part. Also you’ve got to trigger that second rune trap still. And… wait! I’ve got something for you!”

The rings he’d found earlier could keep you from dying. Getting them out of his pocket, he held them out to Miraak.

“Wear these, they’ll help! I forgot I had them in all the excitement, I found them before the amulet.”

Miraak stared down at the rings, and then he slowly lifted his eyes to Lucien’s eyes, looking… happy? Pleased? Surprised? A mix of all three but softer than Lucien was used to from him.

Miraak held out his left hand to him.

“Put it on me then,” Miraak said softly, and Lucien without thinking tried the third finger on his left hand, not stopping to consider the significance. It fit perfectly, and Miraak sighed before holding out his other hand.

“A ring on here too. Yes, like that, then give me the other. And your hand.”

“My… what?” Lucien asked, coming back to himself as he realised Miraak was holding his left hand and sliding the ring on to his third finger. It was a bit big for him but probably not enough to slide off easily.

“I would not leave you without protection,” Miraak said, hand curling into Lucien’s as he squeezed his fingers, his free hand stroking his cheek. Lucien let out an involuntary gasp, staring up into Miraak’s eyes, and he could feel himself blushing as Miraak’s thumb traced his lips.

“How has no one ever courted you,” Miraak murmured. “You’re adorable.”

Lucien gasped and broke away, the trance finally breaking as he realised that if he stayed still, Miraak might take that as consent and he absolutely did not…

He definitely didn’t consent. Definitely not. Definitely didn’t want Miraak to kiss him. He wasn’t ready, Miraak would almost certainly want sex, and he couldn’t… 

He couldn’t, and so he stepped away, shaking his head, and the spell was broken.

Silence from Miraak, who he couldn’t bear to look at.

“I will deal with this rune trap then,” Miraak finally said, casting his armour and Lucien nodded, barely able to watch.

The second explosion was no better than the first, Miraak crying out, and when Lucien opened his eyes, Miraak was curled up on the floor, actually weeping from the pain.

Lucien saw him then, turned from smouldering beast to helpless in moments, and worry overcame his fear as he dropped to Miraak’s side.

“Oh gods,” Lucien whispered. “Miraak, I’m sorry, are you all right? Look, here’s the pack, I’ve got potions, look.”

It took some doing, but Miraak had enough strength to tilt his head back, opening his mouth to drink from the healing potion, strength slowly returning, until his magic recovered too and then Miraak was healing himself, slowly dragging himself to a sitting position with Lucien’s help.

His head was hanging down, hair shielding his face and he looked less Dragonborn hero and just sad.

“You are going to choose the books, aren’t you,” Miraak said softly. “I do not remotely blame you.”

So Miraak really had been asking him out. And Lucien had rejected him and he’d not expected to feel as guilty about this as he did… or as regretful.

“Miraak,” Lucien whispered. “Miraak, don’t. I’m flattered, really. But I’m not ready and… I’m not convinced you’d even look twice at me if you had other people in your life.”

“I would look twice,” Miraak said softly. “You underrate yourself.”

“I don’t think so,” Lucien sighed. “I’m not a man who attracts romantic attention. We’ve established that.”

Miraak glanced up, scowling.

“You attracted mine,” Miraak snapped. And then he sighed and gave up. “Ah Lucien. It’s enough to know it’s a no. I understand. I shall try and pull back. Look elsewhere maybe. You have my word I will not trouble you again.”

Lucien had expected to feel relief at this. He’d not expected to feel sad. He remembered Miraak cuddling him, how safe and warm he’d felt and how he reacted to having Miraak in his personal space. Well. That might not be a problem any more.

This really shouldn’t bother him as much as it did.

“Can I think about this?” Lucien whispered. Miraak did look up at that, surprised, hope dawning in those startling blue eyes of his. Then a smile, even a laugh, as he nodded.

“Of course,” Miraak said, trying to get up and failing. Lucien instinctively went to him, arm round his shoulders as he reached to help steady Miraak, and together they got Miraak back on his feet.

“Do you want the rings back,” Miraak said awkwardly. Lucien looked down at the rings sitting perfectly on Miraak’s fingers. He’d given him those. It hadn’t been intended as a romantic gift, just as a way to keep him safe. But it could symbolise something else, and Lucien realised he didn’t actually want them back. Not yet, because if Miraak did give them back that meant it wasn’t happening.

“Hang on to them,” Lucien said, suddenly reluctant to cut things off so easily. “You might need them again!”

“I might,” Miraak said, smiling again and seeming a lot happier, and that was much better, Miraak being happy and carefree was nice and Lucien liked seeing it. “Shall we see what’s next?”

Yes. Yes they should. Lucien stepped back and indicated for Miraak to lead the way. And Miraak, head held high and a weight off his shoulders, moved on, glancing back at Lucien partly to make sure he was still there and partly just to look at him.

And Lucien looked back, wondering what he was getting himself into. Romance with Miraak? Ridiculous. Impossible. Surely not happening. But… but.

There was absolutely something here, and while Lucien was not ready for a full-blown love affair, the First Dragonborn was someone special, and Lucien wanted to stay in his charmed orbit for just a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor demi-ish Lucien. He has a learning curve ahead of him, that's for sure. Next chapter is the Saarthal boss battle, and then we find out what Cicero's been up to...


	7. Dragon Rising... Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The giant orb under Saarthal is a thing of beauty, but the most beautiful things are often the deadliest. Miraak however soon has other things on his mind as proof of his previous identity comes home to roost... along with the sins of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero's back! I missed Cicero. :) I'm sure someone requested Aranea Ienith too, so she's here as well.

Another pillar puzzle, which Miraak solved with ease on the third try, and then further exploration, and then Tolfdir caught up.

“We made it this far!” Lucien enthused. “Miraak killed a lot of Draugr! And detonated two rune traps! Told you he was brave!”

“I could not have done it without Lucien here, he’s been very helpful,” Miraak said, briefly patting Lucien’s shoulder before remembering he should be giving Lucien space and backing off.

“I did see the dead Draugr, well done,” Tolfdir said, eyes twinkling. “Shall we see if there’s any more?”

Exploration down the corridor, Miraak just managing to pull Lucien off a trap, and then down some steps, through a door and…

“What is that?” Lucien gasped, transfixed by the giant glowing orb in the middle of the chamber. Even he could feel the magicka from here.

“No idea, Tolfdir?” Miraak asked. It didn’t look Nordic.

“I have never seen anything like this in Nordic ruins!” Tolfdir gasped. “This is amazing! Simply amazing!”

He started to made his way down to get a closer look at the orb… and then the Draugr sitting on a throne in front of it got to its feet.

Miraak cursed and hit it with lightning, and Lucien had seen him shred a weaker Draugr with that spell before now.

Not only was this one not a weaker Draugr, it didn’t even seem damaged.

“Why is this not working?? YOL!” Miraak Shouted, and even breathing fire wasn’t helping. Lucien could only watch helplessly as Miraak’s shouts and spells did nothing, and Miraak resorted to constantly having to back away out of the Draugr’s range, a move that had to bother Miraak, because retreating was very much not his style.

“It’ll kill him!” Lucien cried, horrified. He’d never seen Miraak lose. He’d not even thought he could be killed by anything short of a Dragonborn. 

“The orb, it’s the orb,” Tolfdir realised. “I’ll see if I can drain its power, you and Miraak distract it!”

Tolfdir was off, doing something to the orb with shock magic, and Lucien ran down, casting his own magic at the Draugr, seeing Miraak being backed up against the wall and desperate to help.

The Draugr turned round and turned on Lucien instead.

“Oh Stendarr,” Lucien gasped, backing away and if Miraak had been having trouble, Lucien was doomed, magicka draining into the Draugr and barely stalling it. As his magicka ran out, Lucien glanced at the table nearby, saw a staff and dearly hoped it was a useful one.

Lightning magic, it was lightning and that helped, it really did, but the Draugr was still invulnerable and the charge on this wouldn’t last forever.

Lucien stared up into the Draugr’s cold blue eyes and felt time not on his side.

“That’s done it! He’s vulnerable!”

The ward around the Draugr blinked out, but Lucien was exhausted, low on magicka, his new staff was low on charge, and stupidly in his right hand so he couldn’t reach for his axe.

His left hand found the hilt of Cicero’s borrowed knife. Well why not, it was certainly sharp. Lucien drew the blade and blindly shoved it forward, gasping as it slid smoothly into the Draugr’s gut.

The Draugr cried in pain, and then Miraak was there, ambushing it from behind and grabbing its neck then _twisting._ The Draugr’s neck snapped and it collapsed in Miraak’s arms, eyes blinking out.

“Are you all right,” Miraak said, lowering the Draugr to the floor.

Lucien nodded mutely, relief at not being dead swamping him and feeling his knees go weak, he went to have a sit down on the throne.

“Not all right,” Miraak said softly, hand on Lucien’s cheek for the briefest of seconds. “Will it make you feel better if I admit I am not either?”

Lucien gasped and looked up, not having expected that, and what he was saw was Miraak standing before him, shoulders hunched and not his usual commanding self.

“Miraak?” Lucien breathed. “It wasn’t your fault it was protected by the orb! And we both made it.”

Miraak shook his head before dropping to his knees and sitting on the floor, head resting on Lucien’s knee.

“I do not like coming so close to death, still less it going for you,” Miraak said softly. “But it is dead. Truly dead. And we are not.”

Miraak looked up, patted Lucien’s leg and smiled, and Lucien gasped. This… was intimate. This was weird. This was Miraak closer to certain important areas than anyone had ever been, smiling up at him and looking absolutely stunning and all he’d have to do would be to turn round properly and then…

He’d be right in range and poised to… oh god. Lucien could feel blood pooling in his groin and if Miraak chanced to look, he’d _notice._

“All right,” Lucien said softly, carefully easing Miraak away from him and trying to ignore the pouting as he crossed his legs to hide the unmistakeable signs of arousal. “Let’s have you a little bit further away, shall we? Mind yourself, I need to sort this dagger out. Cicero lent it to me. It’s a bit sharp. Mind the staff too, I found it on the table, think it was the Draugr’s.”

Miraak frowned but did move, sitting back and taking the staff off Lucien, examining it and his mood lifting.

“Hah, there’s writing on the staff! It’s in Dovahzul… no it isn’t. It just uses the letters. J-Y-R-I-K G-A-U-L – Jyrik Gauldursson. A name. Not in Dovahzul either. Interesting. He was sealed in here later, long after Saarthal was abandoned.”

“How on earth can you tell?” Lucien asked, surprised. “Did the alphabet change or something?”

“No, but the language clearly has,” Miraak said, waving the writ of sealing. “Dovahzul letters but it’s in a different language. Jyrik would have written his family name as Kul-se-Gauldur in Dovahzul, this isn’t it. Means it’s from after the fall of the Dragon Cult. They kept Dovahzul letters but used them not to write Dovahzul but their own language.”

“And you can understand that too, that’s amazing, Miraak!” Lucien gasped. “What else?”

“I don’t know, let’s see what he had on him,” Miraak said, forgetting Lucien’s reaction in the excitement of new discovery. “Let’s see. Hmm. An ancient warding charm. And it turns out I can read the language. Hmm. Someone bound this Jyrik here, naming him murderer and traitor. Some time ago but Saarthal was clearly already old. Must have been done at the order of someone senior, who knew the orb was trapped here and that it might bind Jyrik here. Clearly the knowledge of all this has been lost since. And this amulet… it’s old but powerful. A magicka-booster and yet there’s something about it. As if it was part of something bigger once. I wonder if there’s other parts out there.”

“Well, we can look for more information,” Lucien said, thinking it over. “Gauldur, Gauldur, I know the name. I just don’t remember how.”

“Welcome to my life every time I enter one of these places,” Miraak sighed. “I wish I remembered. I truly do.”

“So do I but… even without them, you’re still really bright, you know? You just manage to piece things together and work stuff out… you must be one of the brightest people I ever met, you know.”

Miraak looked, grinned, shook his hair out and generally preened in Lucien’s direction, and Lucien shifted awkwardly in the throne again, because this was doing things to him. Not just the lovely blonde hair or the sparkling eyes or the classically defined cheekbones and strong jawline. But the realisation that yes, Miraak was extremely intelligent and interested in knowledge and even if they didn’t entirely share research interests, they were both researchers and… and that meant something. It had to, right? Even with his memory gone, Miraak could still teach Lucien so much and… 

Sex still terrified Lucien but for the first time in his life, he stared at someone and thought that for this one’s company, he’d think about it. It might not be that bad, right? And in return he’d have Miraak there to protect and teach him.

It might, just might, be worth it. And so Lucien stared at Miraak, and Miraak smiled back… and then Miraak glanced over Lucien’s shoulder at the orb.

“Tolfdir has barely moved since we killed the Draugr, we should check on him,” Miraak said, and Lucien remembered there was a third person in the room. Getting up, he followed Miraak over.

“So, any idea what this is?” Miraak asked, admiring the orb. Pretty, shiny, radiating power – Miraak really did like the look of it.

“I have no idea!” Tolfdir breathed. “This is amazing. Absolutely amazing. The Arch-Mage needs to be informed immediately. He needs to see this for himself. I don't dare leave this unattended. Can you return to the College and inform Savos Aren of this discovery? Please, hurry.”

“What, you’re staying here alone?” Lucien asked, joining them. “That doesn’t seem safe!”

“Oh, I think I'll be fine,” Tolfdir said, eyes not leaving the orb. “We seem to have eliminated the most pressing threat. It certainly seems that whoever placed this here intended for it to be well guarded. I wonder why…”

“If this is what the Nords and Snow Elves fought over, I’m not surprised they sealed it away,” Miraak said, fascinated. “This is something you either use or you hide. I suppose the Nords couldn’t find a use for it but couldn’t risk elves getting their hands on it.”

That made sense, especially if Jyrik had been sealed down here later. Maybe the High King at the time had known about the orb, or at least that Saarthal was a prison, and sealed him down here with it. Much to ponder, it seemed. Lucien would have to write some notes. 

But with Tolfdir intent on staying alone, there was little point Lucien and Miraak sticking around, and so they left, finding a newly visible door behind the orb, a word wall that Miraak translated as a proverb from the mysterious Hoar Father on the flesh of true men being unyielding, and a shortcut to the now deserted main entrance.

“Where’s everyone gone?” Lucien whispered. “Goodness, how long have we been down here?”

They got their answer as they opened the door to see stars, Secunda and the aurora blazing across the sky in the twilight of a Winterhold sunset.

“Some time then,” Lucien said, shivering. “Well, we’d better get moving.”

Miraak didn’t disagree, quietly fearing for Lucien in the cold of a Winterhold night. He’d soon have cause to worry about other things though. Wind whistled over them both as a silhouette blotted out the aurora, with a cry Miraak had never heard yet seemed to instinctively know.

“Dragon!” Lucien cried, panicking but managing to cast his armour.

Dragon. Miraak cast his own and stared up at the giant winged lizard, feeling his blood respond to it.

“Dovah!” Miraak announced, feeling a Thu’um come to mind. “Hi fent siiv niid krongrah het! MUL QAH DIIV!”

If the dragon was surprised at the dragon spell suddenly flickering into life around the mortal mage, he didn’t show it. And so battle was joined.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Aranea Ienith had been trying to concentrate on the nightly Twilight Invocation to Azura, she really had. Since the Star had been restored and the visions stopped, it was all she had left.

And then one of the two responsible for the visions stopping had turned up.

“HELLO LOVELY ARANEA!”

Aranea nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d not even heard him coming.

“Cicero,” Aranea sighed, lowering her hands and turning around. “To what do I owe the pleasure.”

There he was, exchanging the black and red leather she’d last seen him in for a set of shining blue armour made of some material like ice except not, bouncing on his heels and looking delighted to see her.

“Cicero wished to see how his favourite Azuran priestess was!” Cicero cooed. “Also if Azura was still sending visions.”

No. Of course not. Azura had made it very clear she wouldn’t be and Cicero knew this.

“Of course not,” Aranea said bitterly. “I told you and Melinda this before. No more visions.”

Cicero actually looked disappointed, face falling.

“Oh. That is sad. Very sad indeed. Cicero had hoped… well. A situation has arisen and Cicero was hoping for guidance from the Mother of the Rose.”

Cicero hopped up, perched his backside on the altar and leaned back with a hand on it. Which was not exactly respectful but Aranea wasn’t about to tell off the man who’d helped rescue Azura’s Star.

“As are we all,” Aranea sighed. “What were you hoping to find out?”

“How a man who was definitely dead and who we definitely buried is up and walking again,” Cicero said, and all right, Aranea had not expected that.

“I take it you’ve ruled out necromancy,” Aranea said and Cicero nodded.

“No walking corpse is this. He lives, fully. He was Dragonborn, I suppose. He has a dragon’s soul. He could have been Shouted back to life. But Alduin is not around to do it and I do not believe would have done for this man. Also sweet Melinda took Miraak’s soul. Then it disappeared from her mind. Now he is restored to life. We wish to know who had enough power to do that and why they did it. Miraak was not a good man, Aranea. It is concerning.”

“And you were hoping Azura knew something,” Aranea said, beginning to see the importance herself. She knew the name. She’d seen visions before. Two Dragon Priests fighting, dragons unleashing hell on a strange temple in mountains she didn’t recognise. Then one of the priests, still alive but in the green tentacled hell-realm that was Apocrypha, anger and malice radiating from him, and a burning desire to return home.

Yes, Aranea knew the name and she told Cicero what she’d seen.

“But this was all from before,” Aranea pointed out. “I saw no visions after you healed the Star, and that was months ago.”

“Before we went to Solstheim,” Cicero sighed, before scowling. “And Azura keeps her silence now. Just like they _all_ do!”

Genuine rage on Cicero’s face and Aranea shrank back, and then it was gone again, and Cicero’s face was calm. Not just that – sympathetic.

“Come with me,” Cicero said softly. “Do not waste your life up here tending to a god who never talks back. It is not worth it, sister.”

Aranea flinched to hear it, repressing the anger that always flared whenever she remembered Azura telling her the visions were ending. Had she really been a means to an end all this time? She did not like feeling like a fool and so she rarely thought of it… but the thoughts would not go away.

Aranea stared up at the silent visage of Azura’s statue.

“I suppose I could help you investigate,” Aranea said thoughtfully. “You will need a mage at your side, I think. He had power. A lot of power. I know Melinda fought him before but… he came back, didn’t he.”

“Yes,” Cicero said, glowering. “Cicero wants to know how. Cicero is finding out. If Aranea wishes to help… Cicero would love to have you along!”

Aranea would never quite get over how fast Cicero’s moods changed. It was always a bit of a worry. But the sympathy seemed genuine.

“Well then, let me get my… Azura have mercy!”

The dragon from nearby Mount Anthor swept overhead but it wasn’t going for them. It seemed to be focused on the nearby Nordic ruins that the College had been excavating lately.

And then came the sound of a Thu’um and lightning splitting the sky.

Cicero leapt off the altar immediately.

“I know that Voice,” Cicero growled, reaching for his bow. “Come, sister, we need to fight!”

Aranea nodded and followed. The dragon, definitely. But after that… Aranea didn’t know if they should be killing Miraak or not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Miraak had told Lucien to run and he sincerely hoped he had done because all his attention was on the dragon, and it was a bit concerning to realise just how much he was enjoying this. Look at it. Look at this thing, it was _glorious._ Beautiful, powerful, majestic… no wonder they’d had their own cult. 

Of course, this one was attacking him so it looked like he’d be forced to kill it. It was a shame. If only there was a way to live peacefully. They really were beautiful animals.

The Shout that could warp minds whispered at the back of his mind, three words that could bring the dragon to heel and he wanted to, very much. A strunmah in the mountains with three, four dragons, all living happily together. Miraak would like that, he really would.

But he had a feeling Lucien wouldn’t approve, and in all honesty that Shout made him uncomfortable. So he didn’t use it and unleashed his magic instead.

And then a fireball hit the dragon, one not from him and it wasn’t from Lucien either. Another mage? One of the Winterhold ones doubling back to help? It didn’t seem apprentice-level though.

Then an arrow hit the dragon, then another, and then another. There was a very skilled marksman out there too.

Miraak would take all the help he could get and redoubled his efforts and, bleeding and exhausted, the dragon eventually came in to land. Not near Miraak, of course not. Cursing, he ran after the downed dragon.

The dragon was snarling and snapping at a red-haired man in stalhrim armour, who was dodging and darting, and behind him was a mage in blue robes unleashing some very impressive Destruction magic.

Miraak unleashed his own magic, and the dragon turned its head. A mistake that proved fatal, because once the redhead was no longer being snapped at, he could focus on attack instead. And attack he did, somehow managing to leap onto the dragon’s head, black ebony knife in hand, viciously knifing the poor Dovah’s head. Miraak felt almost sorry for it. But not sorry enough. 

The dragon died, and its body collapsed, and the little man with the knives backflipped off its head, joined his mage friend and seemed to be waiting expectantly. Looking at the dragon, as if he was waiting for it to do something.

Miraak took a step forward, then smelt smoke and burning flesh and saw flames devouring the dragon from within and… 

Magic and light swirled up, wrapping themselves around him and sinking into him, and it was fire, fire, all fire, he could see nothing and…

Something inside him, something hungry, greedy and draconic, roared into life, jaws clamping down around the incoming power then sinking back down again, and Miraak was forever changed. He could feel it inside him, something stored within, another soul there but bound and trapped and…

He opened his eyes, saw a dragon’s skeleton there, saw the redhaired man looking on, saw the mage with him who seemed to be a Dunmer woman, and while she was shocked, her friend very much was not.

He didn’t have time to think about that. As his knees gave way, all he could think was:

_It’s true. I took a dragon’s soul. I’m Dragonborn. It’s real. I’m Miraak._

_That happened to me. The other Dragonborn did that to me. Because…_

Because Miraak was a monster who’d deserved it. Turning away, he found himself retching violently into the snow, heaving until there was nothing left to heave, and then he heard Lucien calling him, and then he was there, arms round Miraak, offering water, offering a cloth, a potion, holding him tight even as Miraak was aware he was sobbing.

“Miraak, Miraak, it’s all right, I’m here, I’ve got you, please don’t cry, oh gods, are you all right?”

Lucien should be running far, far away but Miraak didn’t have it in him to shove his one friend away.

“I’m Dragonborn,” Miraak managed to get out. “I took its soul, Lucien!”

“I… yes, all right, it does look rather like you did that, but maybe they do that when anyone kills them!” Lucien said, not entirely convincingly and then another voice came.

“Oh no, Lucien. They do not. Cicero has killed a few before now. They only do that if a Dragonborn is there. If Cicero kills a dragon alone, the body just lies there. If Cicero finds the other Dragonborn and brings her to it, or if she is already there, then she takes the soul.”

Miraak looked up and realised the little man with the red hair and the knives had somehow managed to close the distance between them without him even hearing anything, and was now grinning at him. 

“Hello Miraak,” Cicero purred. “Cicero would know that voice _anywhere._ ”

Miraak had the sudden urge to grab Lucien and run, put as much distance between himself and this little horror as humanly possible.

“Who are you,” Miraak managed to get out. “How do you know me?”

Cicero chuckled, folding his arms.

“Oh I don’t, not personally. I was one of your thralls on Solstheim. I ended up working on four different All-Maker stones building your shrines until the other Dragonborn saved me.”

Oh gods. Talk about all his sins coming home at once. 

“I’m so sorry,” Miraak whispered. “Truly, I… I don’t remember that, any of that. They tell me I died and returned somehow. But… if you need my assistance in any way, you have it.”

Cicero actually squealed.

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” Cicero purred, fluttering his eyelashes. “Is that what you look like without the mask?? Cicero did not know you were _pretty!_ ”

He was what?

“I’m not pretty!” Miraak snapped, guilt fading as he sat upright. “Lucien, tell him!”

Lucien had gone a bit quiet and Miraak realised perhaps he wasn’t the right person to have asked, and as he turned to look at Lucien, he saw his friend looking back rather awkwardly.

“Um… actually, he’s not wrong. There was this Dibellan priest back in the second era who did this whole study on quantifying what made something beautiful, and came up with all these proportions and ratios that revolutionised Tamrielic art and… hate to say it, but you’ve got them. Your face has, I mean. I’d need to measure you to make sure but I think you’ve got the Golden Ratio going on with your cheekbones relative to your jawline, and you’re also really symmetrical facially and… I’m not helping, am I?”

“No measuring my face, Lucien!” Miraak cried… although a part of him took note of all this, and while it was a very Lucien way of phrasing things, part of him was noting that Lucien seemed to think his face adhered to scientific standards of beauty and that…

When Lucien Flavius compared you favourably to his beloved science, that was high praise indeed.

“Not here anyway,” Miraak added quickly. “Gods, help me up.”

Lucien did so and soon Miraak was standing and he felt a lot better once he realised this Cicero barely came up to his shoulders.

Of course, the breathless squeaking on Cicero’s part cancelled that right out. The deranged little fool clearly had a size kink and a voice kink, and…

“Wait. Four different stones? After the Dragonborn rescued you from the first, you didn’t flee the island?”

Cicero shook his head.

“No. Dragonborn needed help. After realising sleep made us vulnerable, we stopped sleeping. Then we found touching the stones also ensorcelled you after Cicero poked the Wind Stone.”

“So she rescued you again,” Lucien said, nodding then frowning. “Wait, hang on, how did you get caught by the other two stones?”

“Touching them,” Cicero purred, grinning slyly up at Miraak.

“After you knew they enthralled you?” Miraak said, suspicions crystallising, and Cicero giggled, going pink.

“But how else was I ever going to hear your lovely voice again, Miraak?” Cicero cooed.

“What?” Lucien cried, even as Miraak stared at Cicero, brain trying to wrap itself round this before deciding the only thing it could do was laugh. So he did, bursting out laughing, wiping his eyes as he realised the crazy little weirdo had got himself enthralled on purpose so as to keep listening to his voice.

Cicero started giggling too and before long both of them were convulsed with laughter as Miraak realised he felt a lot better about the whole situation and had been forgiven, or at least lost any reason to feel guilty over this one.

Slowly, Miraak dried his eyes and got himself under control.

“Krosis, Cicero. So, you are the one who helped Lucien in Windhelm? And who is your friend?”

The woman had been watching in silence, eyebrows raised at Cicero and then her attention turned to Miraak, looking him up and down.

He didn’t see any sign of attraction there but she still seemed impressed.

“So you’re Miraak. Back from the dead. I know your story. I am Aranea Ienith, priestess of Azura, and I saw you in visions she showed me. Alas, she’s shown me no visions of how you returned. Do you truly not remember?”

“No,” Miraak said, shaking his head. “I remember only waking up in a shallow grave in Solstheim and knowing I had to find shelter or die. I found Lucien here instead.”

He instinctively put an arm round Lucien and hugged him, before remembering he was supposed to be backing off… except Lucien, for some reason, wasn’t backing off. No, Lucien was drawing nearer, arms round Miraak’s waist and… scowling at Cicero.

Who had noticed and raised an expertly plucked eyebrow.

“Cicero is not here to seduce Miraak,” Cicero said cheerfully. “No, no, Cicero heard you might not be dead, went to Solstheim to check your grave and found it empty. After that, I went asking questions. It was not hard to find news of the tall, strikingly handsome Nord and his Imperial companion. Even less hard to find Lucien himself, it turned out. He was very informative! And now here we all are!”

“Oh gods, I am so sorry, I had no idea he’d been on Solstheim with the Dragonborn!” Lucien gasped, mortified.

“It was not your fault. He got you here,” Miraak said, eyes not leaving Cicero. “Also he strikes me as being very good at finding things out and getting information out of people. Did you say you thought he might be a former Imperial agent?”

“He might be,” Lucien admitted. “Are you?”

Cicero cackled. 

“If I told you all about my past, I would certainly have to kill you,” Cicero purred. “And then Miraak would kill me. It would all be very operatic. So Cicero is not answering that. What Cicero wanted was information on Miraak. And now Cicero has it! You really don’t remember your past life? Any of it? Or why you might have been brought back?”

“No,” Miraak said, wondering what Cicero wasn’t saying. “You seem better informed than I am. You were truly on Solstheim? With the other Dragonborn? What’s your relationship with her? Sellsword? Servant? Ally of convenience?”

“Not your business,” Cicero said softly, expression becoming distinctly hostile. “But you should know she mourned your death. She did not think you guiltless, no. She felt she had no choice, that you were corrupted beyond saving. But she mourned a brother Dovahkiin. She will be surprised to learn you live… but be in no hurry to repeat your death. As long as you are behaving, of course.”

“And you’re here to ensure I am behaving?” Miraak asked, folding his arms. Cicero grinned.

“Cicero is sure you will be on your best behaviour,” Cicero purred. “Aren’t we, Aranea?”

“I don’t know you well enough to form an opinion,” Aranea said, eyeing him carefully. “But… now I’ve seen your face, I remember other visions. You clearly don’t remember, but I saw a boy with his mother, loved and cared for. A boy discovering his magic. A boy learning to read and write Dovahzul. A man learning the blade and then the Thu’um. A man getting married, a man getting a mask. A man weeping over his mother’s body, and later his husband’s. All connected somehow. And only after those did I see you taking the mask off less and less, reading Black Books, killing a dragon not far from here, taking its soul for the first time and feeling the same guilt and sorrow you do now. Nearly dying to a fellow Dragon Priest after your failed rebellion. Then in Apocrypha, falling into hatred, anger and despair. I didn’t see any more. I’m sorry. But I saw enough to realise you weren’t a monster. You were complex, like anyone else. Azura isn’t sending me visions any more, but while I was seeing them, I saw visions of you, your past. I wonder if she foresaw our meeting. It’s within her power certainly.”

She was lying. She had to be! But it sounded like the story he’d heard and yet with details the Skaal hadn’t known, and from the way Cicero had tilted his head, some of this was news to him as well. Meaning he wasn’t her source.

“You saw… me. My family?”

“I think so, yes,” Aranea said, voice softening. “I can tell you more but now is not the time or place, I think. Those are Winterhold robes, are you staying at the College?”

“Yes,” Miraak said. “Have my room, if you like, I can stay at the inn.”

“No, have mine,” Lucien interrupted. “I’ll sleep in a bedroll on Miraak’s bedroom floor. Er, I don’t know where that leaves Cicero.”

“In the inn if you’re sharing with Miraak,” Cicero sighed, a little put out but not seriously objecting. “Don’t worry about poor Cicero, all on his own, having to avoid Nelacar, no.”

“Do you want to sleep on a bedroll in my room then,” Aranea sighed and Cicero ummed and aahed before saying yes, if it wasn’t a bother?

“So, looks like we’ve got company for the foreseeable future!” Lucien said, falling behind to talk to Miraak as Cicero and Aranea went on ahead. “Er. Are you all right? I didn’t realise Thane Cicero would turn out to be the Dragonborn’s friend although I probably should have done.”

“Are you still talking to me,” Miraak said softly. “Now we know for sure who I was. What I did.”

“What?? Gods, of course I’m still talking to you!” Lucien cried. “Why would I not still be talking to you? You’re the First Dragonborn! Thousands of years old! Died and came back! A figure out of legend! Master of the Voice! You don’t just meet someone like that and go ‘no, not interested’ and walk away! You’re _fascinating!_ ”

Miraak really wished he could believe this was anything other than a scholar’s fascination but he’d take what he could get.

“Thank you, fahdoni,” Miraak said softly. “I appreciate it. I’m not sure I deserve it, but I do appreciate it. You know, I don’t hate dragons.”

“I don’t _hate_ them either, they’re just big and aggressive and scary,” Lucien said, glancing nervously back at the dragon skeleton. “But I agree they’d also be fascinating to study. They’re amazing creatures. How do they fly, for one? How much magical energy does it take to keep one in the air? Hey, Miraak. Would you mind if I took a few samples off the dragon? Just to study?”

Miraak didn’t entirely understand Lucien sometimes but it was very endearing to watch so he agreed and watched over Lucien while he did his work then quickly caught up.

“All right, done, we can go home now!” Lucien announced. “Sorry, did you want to say something?”

“Not as such,” Miraak said, smiling fondly at Lucien, his happy little scholar friend who managed to cheer him up without really trying. “Only that I’m fond of dragons too. I love watching them fly, and… you know, my dearest wish would be to have a mountain lair somewhere with three dragons or so, and we could all just live there and be happy and go flying and… am I being hopelessly idealistic. I am, aren’t I. I could Shout the dragons into submission but it’s not the same.”

“No, it wouldn’t be,” Lucien said softly. “But it occurs to me that you joined the Dragon Cult for a reason and stayed in it for a reason and… maybe that reason is that you just really like dragons. And maybe at heart you’re not all right with killing them. And that’s perfectly OK, Miraak! I mean, it’s not like it gave you a choice!”

“No, but I had one,” Miraak said quietly. “I could have taken its free will away. Made it not fight me. I didn’t. I killed it and took its soul instead.”

“You couldn’t help the soul-taking, could you?” Lucien asked. 

No. No he couldn’t. But the dragon was dead as a result. Dead and gone forever. Was that better than ripping its free will away?

“Not exactly,” Lucien had to admit. “But at least it was free. I think enslaving someone is on much the same level as killing them. Death might even be kinder. Look, long and short of it is, you had no choice. It was attacking, you had to kill it in self-defence. There is nothing morally wrong with that, Miraak.”

“I know,” Miraak sighed. “I just wish it otherwise. Thank you, fahdoni. It is good having you to talk to. You are good for me. You truly don’t think I’m a monster?”

“We just had a philosophical discussion about whether it’s morally right to kill dragons, a discussion you were on the not-killing side of, and you still think you’re a monster?” Lucien said, faintly disbelieving at this. “Miraak, you’re human. Not all good but not all bad either. You did bad things but you’re not a bad person. Whatever you did wrong, you can do better and make up for it in the future. I mean, you died, Miraak. Literally paid the ultimate price for your wrongdoing. You got another start! Clean slate! You have a chance to be better this time around!”

Miraak did smile at that, and then he recalled some of the visions Aranea had recounted. Visions of himself as a loved young man, then later a bereaved adult, and then the realisation Bend Will gave him an alternative to killing the dragons he admired so much and…

“What if it was my good intentions led me to Apocrypha in the first place?” Miraak said quietly. “What if I was trying to do the right thing and made things worse?”

“Oh Miraak,” Lucien sighed, taking his hand and squeezing it. “We don’t know that. We’ll never know that. All we can do is try our best. And who knows, maybe this time it’ll work out. But you know I’m here, right? You can ask me about things if you’re not sure. I’ll try and help! And Aranea seems nice!”

“You are deliberately not mentioning Cicero here, aren’t you,” Miraak said, glancing up ahead at where the little fruitloop was babbling away to a very patient Aranea. 

Lucien’s gaze went to Cicero, and he shuddered.

“I’ll be honest. That man is insane. Stark, raving, terrifying, insane. But even he helped, Miraak. He didn’t have to help me in Windhelm, but he did. And I think if he wanted to kill you, he would have done before you even noticed. But I don’t think he wants to. And then there’s the bit where he likes listening to your voice. I mean, I get what he means, there’s this melodic quality to it and if I look up something on the science of harmonics, I bet your voice’s natural tones would match. But… he takes it too far. Getting himself enslaved just to listen to you?? Crazy, I tell you. Also I don’t like the way he was looking at you. There was something predatory about it. I wanted him to leave you alone.”

Miraak glanced down to where Lucien’s hand was still in his, then back up to where Lucien was scowling at Cicero’s back.

“He desires intimacy with me,” Miraak helpfully told him. “This was obvious. I am flattered but will not be taking him up on it. I too can tell he is trouble, Lucien.”

“What, really?” Lucien gasped, relieved. Then it sank in, and he stared at Cicero, appalled.

“What, he really wants to… oh gods. No! He’s not allow- er.”

Lucien stopped and went pink, because he was starting to realise he had no standing whatsoever to tell Cicero to stop flirting with Miraak, and because it was also starting to occur to him he’d have to share Miraak’s attention now, and he wasn’t sure he liked that either. 

Miraak saw all this, recalled Lucien having never had a partner before and not having any siblings and wondered if Lucien had ever felt jealous in his life. Likely not.

“Lucien. Shall we go back to Winterhold and talk more on this when we are both warm and comfortable. We are sharing a room again, yes? This is to your liking?”

“Yes, of course it is, wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Lucien said, seemingly glad of a change in subject. “Look, shall we catch the others up? Oh, and I’m going to ask Aranea what she thinks about the ethics of killing a hostile creature versus magically enthralling it! She’s a priestess, she must have some idea!”

Notably absent was the desire to get Cicero’s ethical point of view, and rightly so, because when they did catch up and ask, he turned out not to have one, mostly wanting to know if enslaving the creature would be useful and if not, stabbing, obviously, Cicero didn’t see the problem here.

Miraak suddenly felt a lot better about his own moral standing. Lucien was right, perhaps the most important thing wasn’t if he was a good or bad person because the definition of either could change. Perhaps it was just that he thought about things and asked the questions. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could be a good person this time.

Perhaps he could be a good partner for Lucien too. If Lucien wanted him, of course. There were hopeful signs but they were not there yet.

He still wanted his strunmah with dragon friends though. It was a far-off dream. But maybe it might happen one day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

_Dearest Melinda!_

_I have located our quarry and identified him. It is him all right. I would know that voice anywhere._

_Also he killed a dragon and took its soul. That is rather a giveaway. No one witnessed except myself, the Flavius boy and our friend Aranea Ienith. I recruited her as backup. It turns out Azura sent her visions of Miraak back in the day, lots of them. This could be useful, but mostly in that it has endeared her to him._

_It seems he truly does not remember his past self, although he has learned the story from the Skaal. He and Lucien went there to see if he was one of them. Obviously, he is not. But the story seemed to resonate and he started to wonder, so he and Lucien researched further and… well, it ended up with them going to Winterhold to see what they had in the way of sources, and Miraak taking a dragon’s soul._

_Of course, if you received my last letter, you suspected as much. Here is where it gets interesting. Far from being triumphant, he showed… remorse. Regret. Violently so as he ended up throwing up after taking the soul. I have never seen you do this so will assume it is not inherent to taking them. On asking further, it appears he feels guilt and sorrow, both over all the things he did before, and over ending the dragon for good. Apparently he would quite like to live in harmony with the Dov in a mountain strunmah somewhere. I did explain the Dov are power-hungry and competitive and this would not end well without Bend Will, but still he thinks it a good idea and was asking Aranea what the ethics of killing versus enslavement were. Thankfully she agrees that robbing a sentient creature of its will is a bad idea. She also pointed out that she’d heard that learning a Thu’um involves taking it inside yourself, becoming the Shout and that aside from anything else, use of that Shout repeatedly over time might turn you into the worst kind of despot._

_So much about him is now explained. Anyway we all agreed perhaps he will not make a habit out of using that one._

_Anyway, we are settling into Winterhold and excitement is afoot! A Thing was discovered in Saarthal. That’s the first human city on the continent. It has been a ruin for a very long time, but the College was excavating and uncovered a sealed area and investigated, and a giant, powerful, glowing orb was found inside. No one knows what it is. It is not really our business but it is interesting and Lucien is reporting it to the Archmage now. Miraak meanwhile is talking to Aranea about her visions. Of all of them, it is the ones of his childhood he wants most. Particularly his mama._

_I hope you do not want him killed, pretty one. I would feel sadness if he died now. I remember my mama. He does not even have that._

_As for Lucien, he is well and not in any danger, not from Miraak anyway. Miraak dotes on and spoils him non-stop, and I believe has benefited from Lucien’s company, just as Lucien is learning all sorts from his new friend. I will keep an eye on things, but see no reason to intervene._

_One last thing. He obviously has no mask nor any memory he used to wear one. I saw his face, beloved!_

_He is tall, blonde, Nordic and stunning. A bit older than you, closer to my age. But he looks like you, my sweet. He could be your brother. If he continues to behave and you are able to meet… no one would think twice if you called him such._

_Give my love to the children! I hope they are doing well and enjoying Whiterun. I am sorry to palm them off on you but I did not think it wise to leave them in Windhelm. But they are good children and I am sure Aventus will like Jorrvaskr. Sofie maybe not so much but she might like learning alchemy from Arcadia! She always liked me, I am sure she will be kind to a little girl away from home._

_Lots of love,  
Cicero_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cicero with his size and voice kinks. Never change, Cicero. He loves Melinda and would never act on this but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel things. And so Miraak has to put up with this squealing little maniac. Have fun. :)
> 
> Miraak as having adored and idolised dragons as a young man and just wanting to live in harmony with his dragons strikes me as an adorable reason for him to join the cult... and also a bit sad after he had to resort to Bend Will to get his dream.
> 
> Lucien as a pampered only child who's never had a partner has never been jealous before! He's not sure he likes it.


	8. Hitting the Books

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Aranea's visions being a key to his past, Miraak can't wait to get started, but the first one proves more emotional than predicted. Meanwhile Lucien finally decides to be Brave and confront things... but may have bit off more than he can chew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the cutest opening scene ever. It's canon that Dragon Cultists who weren't Dragon Priests were not allowed to say the words Dov, Dovah or dragon so they probably had euphemisms instead. I went for one from Dragon Age.
> 
> Sonaak = Dragon Priest, Dragon Priesthood.

The boy, small, blonde, about six years old, was resting his head on his mother’s lap, looking most disgruntled.

“It’s not fair,” the boy said sulkily. “Why does Bormi always take the others’ side?”

“He does not always take the others’ side, Svaknir,” his mother said, stroking his hair as she laid her sewing down. “He does love you too. But Halbard is your older brother and going to provide for this family too one day. And Greta is his only daughter. She might get married and leave the village one day, he wants to make the most of her while she’s still here.”

“What if _I_ leave the village?” little Svaknir demanded. “And I can hunt and fish too! Or – or I will learn when I’m bigger. I can provide for this family just as much as Halbard can! I’m smarter _and_ cuter!”

His mother laughed and petted his cheek, her face almost a mirror of his own, her eyes and hair the same shade, and while she was no longer young, she was still clearly a beautiful woman.

“You might be right, my son. But do not tell your siblings that. They won’t want to hear it.”

Svaknir wriggled round to beam up at the mother who always had time to fuss over her baby boy.

“Love you, moni!” he cried and she smiled down at him in a way that left no doubt she loved him too.

“When I grow up, I’m going to learn everything!” Svaknir informed her. “And I will be rich and powerful and provide for you better than Halbard! I’m going to learn all the magic and join the Sonaak and make friends with the d- with the glorious ones!”

Sadness crept into his mother’s eyes as she stroked his face.

“No one in our family has ever had magic, little one,” she told him. “Not mine, not your bormah’s. But you could still serve the Sonaak. They need warriors to guard them.”

Svaknir pouted, clearly not deterred. 

“I’m going to learn magic anyway and be the bestest and cleverest and handsomest of all the Sonaak and all the Do- glorious ones will love me and THEN Bormi and Halbard will be sorry!” Svaknir announced, determined.

Svaknir’s mother laughed and promised to visit him at the Temple if he ever managed this.

“Every day?” Svaknir asked hopefully.

“Whenever you need me, my son,” she promised and Svaknir snuggled into his mother’s lap, contented and happy. His mother loved him and one day he’d be the best. That he promised.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The connection ended and Aranea lowered her hands, releasing Miraak from the memory, and he sank back, gasping, tears pouring down his cheek.

“That was her,” Miraak gasped. “My mother!”

Aranea nodded.

“I assumed so. She looks just like you and you seemed extremely fond of and comfortable with each other. Whatever else went wrong in your life, your mother clearly loved you very much.”

Miraak closed his eyes and started to sob, mourning a mother he didn’t remember but already missed, holding his head in his hands, and Aranea started to wonder if this was a good idea. She’d thought this was one of the better visions! And yet here was Miraak in pieces over it.

“I’m so sorry,” Aranea whispered. “Are you all right?”

Aranea awkwardly rubbed his back and at length Miraak nodded.

“Yes,” Miraak gasped. “Yes, I’m just…”

The door opened and Lucien walked in with his things, seeing them both sitting on the bed and Miraak hunched over with his head in his hands and tears on his face, and promptly let his things fall to the floor.

“Is everything all right?” he whispered, closing the door. “Er… I can come back. Or go somewhere else! Yes. Somewhere else. I’ll stay in the inn, it’s fine, Nelacar has no idea who I am, I’ll be right out of your way…”

“No. Stay,” Miraak managed to get out, reaching out for him because he couldn’t bear the thought of Lucien trekking all the way to the inn on his own. What if he fell off the bridge? He still wasn’t good with it, Miraak had had to replicate that spell from Vahlok’s tomb that created virtual walkways for him.

“Please,” he added, because that had sounded like an order, and it wasn’t supposed to be. It seemed to work, because Lucien approached tentatively and settled near him on the bed.

“Um,” Lucien said nervously. “Am I interrupting?”

“I was sharing a vision with Miraak, one of his childhood,” Aranea said gently, still rubbing Miraak’s back. “It affected him. I didn’t know he’d react like that to seeing his mother.”

“Nor did I,” Miraak said, wiping his face. “Krosis, you shouldn’t have to see me like this. Is there a handkerchief anywhere…”

He stopped, seeing a silk monogrammed handkerchief with the initials LF being pushed into his hand.

“I’ve got a pack of five of these, don’t worry,” Lucien said softly. “Keep it if you like.”

Miraak was going to cry again if he kept this up. Instead he just blew his nose, wiped his eyes then squeezed Lucien’s hand.

“Neither of you are seeing at me at my best,” Miraak said ruefully. “My apologies. I am not normally like this.”

“It is absolutely fine to show emotions,” Aranea told him. “You learned you were Dragonborn, took a dragon’s soul, and now you saw a memory from a childhood you don’t remember and learned what your mother looked like. You both saw a mother who loved you and realised you’d never see her again. You’re allowed to mourn.”

Miraak nodded, pulling himself together and thanking her.

“It was more than I ever expected to have,” Miraak told her. “Thank you, Aranea. Thank you for giving her back to me.”

“It was no trouble, Miraak,” Aranea told him, taking her leave. “It would be wise to allow a few days before the next one. You need to rest and recover.”

Miraak nodded, agreeing and seeing her out, and Lucien waited while Miraak closed the door and returned, sitting on the bed next to him.

“Thank you,” Miraak said awkwardly. “I… er… you were not meant to see that.”

“It’s fine,” Lucien said, not quite sure what to do with himself, because seeing Miraak this vulnerable was frankly terrifying. “Um. Did you need anything? I think I saw mead lying around!”

“No, no, not tonight,” Miraak said, shaking his head. “We should turn in. Are you sure you’re all right with the floor?”

“You’re asking me that after this??” Lucien said, disbelieving. “Look, you have had a very rough day. Saving me repeatedly. Getting injured and healing yourself. Then fighting a dragon and taking its soul, finally finding out who you really are definitively, and then you get shown a memory of your mother?? Who you were clearly close to and adored? That’s a very full day and you clearly need a good night’s sleep. Go on, go to bed. I’ll be fine!”

Miraak nodded and Lucien looked away while Miraak got changed and climbed into bed, facing away from Lucien while Lucien sorted himself out and climbed into his bedroll… then paused.

_This is a bad idea._

_Don’t be silly, if anyone needs a cuddle right now, it’s him._

_What if he gets the wrong idea._

_What idea did you have in mind then, Lucien._

_Oh gods. This is terrifying._

_We’re braver than this, Lucien!_

Of course he was. But was he sure about this, was the question.

No. No he was not. But… the First Dragonborn. The ridiculously talented, objectively attractive First Dragonborn, who was already protecting and mentoring him. As Lucien’s… what. Boyfriend? It seemed inadequate somehow. 

Person Lucien exchanged sexual favours with in return for knowledge and protection? That was worse.

Friend? Friend. Who Lucien felt close to and respected and… wanted to be closer to. Cicero it turned out had been flirting mostly for entertainment than any real desire to consummate anything, but the next person might actually want Miraak! What if Miraak met someone. What if Miraak fell in love with someone else. What if Miraak got married.

Lucien didn’t think he could stand to watch Miraak get married to someone else. That’d be their adventures over for good.

That decided him. Wincing as bare feet hit stone floor, Lucien hopped over to the bed and perched on the side, feeling a bit ridiculous in his pyjamas but what the hell. Miraak had said they were cute and he was _not_ taking them off.

“Miraak,” Lucien whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” came the response, and Miraak turned over, hair falling everywhere and chest hair visible where his own thermal underwear fell open at his chest. Lucien dragged his eyes away with difficulty to Miraak’s face. To Miraak’s classically sculpted face and those eyes, which were presently looking lazily at him.

“Did you want something, fahdoni?” Miraak asked. Lucien nodded then took a deep breath and lifted the blanket. 

“Is there room for me in here?” Lucien asked. “Just for a bit? I won’t sleep here but… we could cuddle?”

Miraak had gone very still, staring at him and then he nodded, shifting back to make room and Lucien slid in, sighing at the warmth and the comfy mattress and then the blanket was back over him and…

So was Miraak, arm round him and pulling him to his chest, Lucien’s face right up against the chest hair and while he’d hugged Miraak before, this felt different. No fleeting hug this. This meant something. This was Lucien reaching for Miraak and taking him in his arms, and Miraak welcoming him in.

Lucien moaned softly, and immediately wished he hadn’t because Miraak had pulled him closer then kissed the top of his head, resting his forehead near Lucien’s, just close enough to touch.

“What brought this on?” Miraak murmured, sounding absolutely delighted. “I did not expect this! I am not, of course, complaining.”

Lucien bet he wasn’t.

“I’ve been thinking,” Lucien said, not meeting Miraak’s eyes and trying to ignore the fact Miraak was right there and watching him with that bloody smile on his face. “And… you’re the First Dragonborn. Really. Definitively. Proven. With skills all over the place, and a master of the stupidly hard to learn Thu’um, and… and how can that not be impressive. I mean, you’re impressive! I thought some of my tutors were impressive but you’ve beaten them all. You’re just… amazing. And I love adventuring with you. I don’t think I ever want it to stop. But… you’re you and I’m ordinary and I’m afraid you’ll realise that eventually and get bored of me. Look, I’m the worst romantic partner ever and sex terrifies me but… for you, I’d do it. If it meant I got to keep you, I’ll do it. I think what I’m saying here is I’m willing to pay for all the training and protection with sex. If it means you’re still here with me.”

Miraak was frowning, and then to Lucien’s crushing disappointment, he shook his head.

“I am not accepting sex in payment for _anything,_ ” Miraak snapped. “I am worth more than that. So are you. Yes, it’s on offer but the mentoring and protection are for free, Lucien. If we make love, I want it to be because it’s something you want. Because we care for each other and want to express that physically. Not because you think you owe me for looking after you.”

“Don’t I?” Lucien whispered. “You’ve done so much for me!”

A finger on his lips and Miraak shook his head.

“Niid. You were there for me when I woke up alone and you helped me find my feet. It was your idea to come to Winterhold, and you whose previous acquaintance with Cicero brought him and Aranea to me. Thanks to you, I know what my mother looked like. If I am teaching you, it is because I wish to see you flourish. If I protect you, it is because I do not wish to see you come to harm. You do not need to pay me back with anything but your company and your affection. It doesn’t have to be sexual.”

Lucien closed his eyes and a relief he hadn’t realised flooded through him.

“I don’t have to have sex with you,” Lucien breathed. “Unless I want to.”

“Not unless you want to, although it is my hope you’ll be open to some form of it,” Miraak murmured. “But this is nice too.”

“And you’re not going anywhere?” Lucien asked, feeling nervous because this meant something. This was more important than the sex question. “You won’t get bored of me and fall in love with someone else and leave me to go off and get married to someone else?”

Lucien risked a look at Miraak and saw actual shock in his eyes as his palm cupped his cheek.

“No, never,” Miraak said fiercely. “Lucien, I promise, you are the one I care for above all others. I know I have not known you long. But I care deeply for you. You are the one who brings me happiness. For as long as you are with me, I promise I will remain faithful to you.”

“What, really?” Lucien gasped. “Even if we’re not having sex?”

“Even then,” Miraak murmured. “You are my precious Lucien. I will not just abandon you. I had one question, however.”

“What is it?” Lucien asked, still not quite over Miraak agreeing to postpone sex.

Miraak moved closer, leaning over Lucien, stroking his cheek. 

“Can I kiss you?” Miraak asked, and Lucien actually shivered, Miraak right there with hair falling all around Lucien’s face, and if Lucien hadn’t been aroused before, he was now. Not trusting himself to say anything else he nodded, suddenly feeling very vulnerable because if Miraak decided to go back on his word, there was very little Lucien could do about it.

Miraak’s expression had shifted into a frown but he said nothing, leaning closer, lips brushing Lucien’s gently. Lucien gasped but did not move away, lips parting and then Miraak’s lips met his, eyes closing, moaning as contact was made, and Lucien couldn’t help but gasp.

Kissing. This was kissing. This was what kissing was like. This was a very attractive man on top of him, lips on his, moaning into Lucien’s mouth and clearly having a good time and…

Lucien put his hands up, arms going round Miraak and pulling him closer and apparently that was good because Miraak moaned into his mouth, falling on top of him, very enthusiastic about the whole thing and Lucien… Lucien realised in that moment that kissing was nice and he could stand to do more of it. And that kissing _Miraak_ was very nice indeed because he smelt and felt good and all that strength in his arms made Lucien feel alive.

Gasping for breath, he finally fell back and Miraak let him, face inches from his as he stared down at him.

“Are you all right?” Miraak murmured to him. “Was it good for you too?”

Lucien nodded slowly, staring up at Miraak, realising that he’d done it. No turning back now. He’d just kissed Miraak, who’d promised to be faithful to him and not run off with anyone else and…

“Are you my boyfriend now?” Lucien gasped. Miraak grinned and nodded.

“Yes, of course. If you want me to be. This is what you were trying to ask me, no?”

“Yes,” Lucien said instantly, feeling the tension sliding out of him and relief and joy filling him as he realised, yes, yes that was what he wanted, someone who was smart and intelligent and knew things and liked listening to Lucien and could teach him things and who’d help his research not constantly complain he wasn’t being attentive enough. Lucien could be attentive! Only it was far easier to pay attention to exciting scientific discoveries.

Lucien had somehow managed to get himself a boyfriend who was all of that.

“I think I’m getting the better bargain out of this, my good sir,” Lucien gasped, and he’d not expected Miraak to flinch.

“Please never call me sir again,” Miraak said firmly. “And you underrate yourself. You’re worth loving. And I would be honoured to call you my love and have you at my side.”

 _I wish I could come out with things like that on the fly._ It must be a Nord thing. As it was, Lucien could feel himself blushing, awkward and embarrassed but at the same time stupidly, ridiculously excited. He was going out with Miraak! The First Dragonborn liked him!

Writing back to his parents about this was going to be… interesting. But Lucien had no intention of turning back now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They’d cuddled a bit longer before Lucien started yawning, at which point Miraak had been the one to slide out of bed, kiss Lucien on the forehead, tuck him in and have the bedroll, which had not been the plan but Lucien was too tired to object. 

The next morning brought Lucien waking up, looking sleepily about him and realising where he was, remembering what he’d done last night and then that he _had a boyfriend now._

_MISTAKE MISTAKE MISTAKE WHAT HAVE I DONE._

Saviik was his boyfriend. Sweet-natured, friendly, strong and fearless Saviik loved a milk-drinker liked him, and Lucien couldn’t stop smiling about it.

Miraak was his boyfriend. The millennia-old reborn First Dragonborn had taken a liking to him and there was not a thing Lucien could do about it.

One made him happy. One terrified him. And yet they were the same person and Lucien didn’t really know how to deal with that.

Turning over, he saw Miraak curled up in his bedroll, eyes closed, apparently sleeping peacefully, and not looking at all like a millennia-old demigod who could turn people into his thralls. 

Very easy to believe he was nothing more than a Nord bodyguard when you saw him like that. Very easy indeed to find himself smiling and want to go cuddle with him again.

Apart from the bit where he was extremely dangerous, of course. And yet…

Miraak was also quite capable of being kind, affectionate, reasonable, honourable even. Tipping the bartender at the Netch. Being nice to the Skaal. Learning his story and feeling nothing but guilt and remorse and horror. The Psijic had said his aura was Aedric. Helping Onmund reconcile his heritage with his calling. Pushing J’zargo to learn without being abrasive. Being polite to Brelyna, and fast becoming friends with Aranea. Sharing research interests with Tolfdir. Even seeming fond of Cicero.

No sign of wanting to bend anyone’s will. No immediately expecting orders to be obeyed or taking charge. If Lucien hadn’t seen him take a dragon’s soul, he wouldn’t have believed this was Miraak.

And yet he was definitely Dragonborn and Cicero had cheerfully confirmed he’d known that voice.  
First Dragonborn. Confirmed. A big deal who’d been thoroughly forgotten, defeated, killed… and by the grace of the Eight, returned.

Lucien didn’t really like divine explanations for a thing as a rule, he always felt they were a copout. But for the life of him, he could think of no other. 

Miraak opened his eyes, blinking and rubbing his eyes, and terrifying Dragonborns had no right to look that cute.

“Lucien?” he said sleepily. “Is everything all right?”

Lucien nodded, unable to stop himself smiling.

“You’re really cute first thing,” he said before he could think about what he was saying. Miraak raised his head, propped himself up on his elbow, and grinned, shaking his hair back.

Gods damn it, no one should look that appealing.

“That’s less cute,” Lucien told him. “Now you’re just showing off.”

“There is much to show off,” Miraak purred, tilting his head back. “Am I not worth admiring?”

“You are starting to sound like J’zargo,” Lucien said, and there was someone Lucien was never going to find attractive. Or get on with. Brelyna was nice, Onmund considerate but J’zargo? No. 

Wincing as he got out of bed and feet hit the cold floor, Lucien made his way over to where Miraak was lying and sat on the floor. At least until Miraak summoned a cushion over and made him sit on that instead.

“I have more in common with that Khajiit than you might think,” Miraak said, still resting his head on one hand but not as obviously posing now. “We’re both skilled and we both know it. I was probably like him when younger.”

“Yes and you’ve clearly since grown up and matured a bit,” Lucien said, adjusting himself to some level of comfort. “He’s got a way to go yet. There’s a reason I went after you and not him, and it’s not just because of your Golden Ratio cheekbones and the hugging. You’ve managed to learn from your mistakes even when you didn’t remember making them. You’ve just grown up a bit. I like that!”

Miraak grinned, preening, and if he did that again, Lucien was going to get aroused and then there’d likely be trouble.

“You still wish to be my partner,” Miraak said, and something in his voice got to Lucien. The hope. The delight. The surprise and wonder. As if the supremely confident First Dragonborn had actually been worried Lucien might change his mind.

Never mind that Lucien’s first coherent thoughts that morning had been second ones. Lucien looked down at the man in front of him and realised that the First Dragonborn was human and had worries and insecurities like anyone else, and might actually be vulnerable, and that he, Lucien, had the potential to absolutely break this man’s heart if he wasn’t careful.

Just like that, Lucien felt the fear melting as he realised he wasn’t helpless, Miraak wasn’t all-powerful, and the distinction between Saviik the protector and Miraak the all-conquering tyrant was by and large illusory.

“Yes,” Lucien said, deciding. “Yes, I’m still your partner. I mean, you give the best cuddles! And you’re _fascinating!_ And I need to measure your face and sketch you, because I swear you’ve got all these classical good looks going on.”

Miraak sat up, smiling, and held out his arms to Lucien, and Lucien couldn’t stop the moan as Miraak’s arms went round him, pulling him close and almost pinning him to Miraak’s chest.

“I adore having you in my arms,” Miraak murmured. “You seem to just fit there.”

Lucien could only make incoherent little moans in response, never wanting this to stop, just wanting to be there in Miraak’s arms forever, safe and warm and cared for.

It couldn’t last though. Eventually they had to get up, bathe, get dressed and at Lucien’s request, went to have breakfast in the Hall of Attainment.

“Good morning!” Lucien announced cheerfully as he saw two other apprentices plus Cicero there. “It is my great good fortune to tell you all you were right about Miraak here being interested and after talking it over we’re now… Onmund!!! You’re _green!_ ”

Clearly not news to Onmund who was looking most uncomfortable.

“It was an experiment gone wrong. Nothing to worry about,” Onmund said awkwardly.

“Brelyna wanted help with testing her spells, Onmund volunteered because he wished to impress her and now he is green,” Cicero said cheerfully. “Do not worry! Aranea said it would wear off. She and Brelyna are off now trying to work out what went wrong.”

“I was not trying to impress her!” Onmund protested. J’zargo and Cicero both grinned at that, Cicero cackling into his fruit juice. 

“I doubt he has succeeded,” J’zargo purred. 

Lucien suddenly felt a lot better about his own romantic misadventures, sitting down next to Cicero for breakfast. To his surprise, Miraak helped himself to food but did not sit down, kissing Lucien on the top of his head before going off to find Aranea and Brelyna to see if he could help.

Leaving Lucien alone with Cicero and J’zargo both looking knowingly at him.

“Kissing is it now?” Cicero asked sweetly. “Cicero suspected as much. You were positively green yourself yesterday when Cicero was flirting with your beloved Miraak.”

“I was not!” Lucien protested, then reconsidered. “All right, perhaps a little. But it doesn’t matter because he likes me! I mean, he’s interested! And promised to stay faithful. And we’re sharing a room now. Um.”

“Revolting,” J’zargo spat, shaking his head. “Still. I do not complain. While you two are busy staring into each other’s eyes and holding hands, I will be learning magic you cannot even comprehend.”

“If you see any Black Books, do not open them,” Cicero said, barely even looking up. “In fact, say no to anything tentacled. No good will come of it.”

Lucien recognised the reference to legendary tomes of Hermaeus Mora and flinched, realising just where Cicero had got his knowledge from. Thankfully, J’zargo seemed blissfully unaware.

Breakfast finished, and Miraak had finished advising Brelyna, then listened to something else and told Lucien not to wait for him, he had to speak to Enthir about something and was taking Cicero, and Lucien found himself at a loose end.

Well, not quite. Archmage Savos Aren had been intrigued by the find and asked him to see if the Arcanaeum had anything.

Turned out, not so much. There had been books but some former apprentice called Orthorn had stolen them and run off to some place called Fellglow Keep down in Whiterun Hold to impress some necromancers.

For goodness sake. What sort of College were they running here? The Arcane University had little charms in the covers that screamed a blue streak and summoned a cage to trap you in if you took them out of the university without leave. Of course, you could deface the book to get the thing out if you really wanted to steal it, but what sort of monster would do that??

Lucien was definitely speaking to Miraak about this. There must be something they could do. As it was, Lucien was going to need his help retrieving the books anyway.

So preoccupied was Lucien that he didn’t notice the shadow looming over him until it was too late and walked into someone.

“Gods, I’m so sorry, completely wasn’t looking where I was going,” Lucien began, only to be cut off abruptly.

“Watch where you’re going, you insignificant wretch,” Ancano snapped, glaring at Lucien. “Hmm. You, is it? It has come to my attention something was found in Saarthal. You were there, yes?”

Oh gods. Lucien was known to Ancano the extremely shady Thalmor ‘advisor’. Oh gods. 

“Yes,” Lucien said nervously. “Yes I was. We found something. I don’t know what it was, we’re still studying it. I told the Archmage all this.”

“I see,” Ancano said, eyes narrowed. “I will have to meet with the Archmage- Mirabelle.”

Lucien had never been so glad to see anyone in his life, except possibly his mother, and Miraak of course.

“Ancano,” Mirabelle said firmly, folding her arms. “Is there a problem? May I remind you the apprentices are under my supervision and if you have a problem with one of them, it needs to come through me. _Is_ there a problem?”

“I… no,” Ancano was forced to admit. “I merely had questions about Saarthal.”

“Then I’m sure Archmage Aren will be happy to answer them,” Mirabelle said, staring unflinchingly at him.

Ancano took the hint and left for the Archmage’s quarters, and Mirabelle turned to Lucien.

“Are you all right.”

Lucien nodded, suddenly very reminded of his mother, who could also tell grown men off with impunity then switch to quietly comforting.

“Yes. Thank you,” Lucien said awkwardly. “Er. Is he often like that?”

“Yes but he normally leaves the apprentices alone,” Mirabelle said, frowning. “If he bothers you again, come to me immediately. He advises the Archmage. It’s not his responsibility to interfere with our students. Never mind. I was looking for you anyway. Your… friend. Miraak. Or Saviik. Or whatever he calls himself. He’s requested you move into his quarters and has asked for another bed to be put in there for you. Apparently you two are… seeing each other now?”

That was fast work, even for Saviik.

“He told you that??” Lucien gasped, knowing he was blushing. “We only decided that last night! I’m in there temporarily because Thane Cicero’s in my room at the moment. I was going to sleep in my bedroll on the floor but Saviik wouldn’t hear of it and gave me the bed. I suppose he’d like to not have to sleep on the floor. Wait, he requested two singles? Not a double?”

“No,” Mirabelle said, seeming a little confused about that herself. “Apparently he felt it important for you to have your own space. Personally I think you have that in your own room, but if you two truly are seeing each other, who am I to argue. So, is this something you’d be all right with?”

Single beds. Miraak had asked for two single beds, not a double. Specifically to give Lucien space. So Lucien would feel comfortable and have Miraak there without feeling the need to do anything, and maybe they could push the beds together and cuddle if they needed to, but there was no need whatsoever to do anything else. Which was the most touching thing Lucien had imagined, and suddenly he wanted to go and cuddle his sweetheart of a Nord.

“Yes, it’s fine, I’d love to!” Lucien gasped. “If that’s all right?”

“Of course, you’re both adults,” Mirabelle said, seeming surprised he’d ask. “I just wanted to make sure you knew and were fine with it. If you are, that’s perfectly fine and I’ll make the arrangements.”

Mirabelle took her leave, and Lucien ran to find Miraak, excited beyond all measure. Enthir, he’d been off to speak to Enthir so in the Hall of Attainment?

Sure enough, Miraak was in Lucien’s old room, sitting in the chair while Cicero perched on the bed, dressed like a jester, of all things, and looking very pleased with himself while Aranea packed her things.

“You’re leaving?” Lucien asked, surprised.

“Yes, for now,” Aranea said, glancing up at him. “It turns out Enthir the Wood Elf traded a powerful staff to a man who turned out to be a dark mage. We’ve persuaded him to retrieve the staff, and Onmund’s going to help. Apparently he traded a family heirloom to Enthir and now regrets it. Enthir’s agreed to give it back if Onmund helps with the staff retrieval. I’m going to ensure everyone honours their word, and Brelyna’s coming as well. But I will be back. I owe Miraak more visions, don’t I.”

“Yes,” Miraak said, nodding fervently. “So do not die, priestess of Azura. If need be, sacrifice Enthir, few will miss him.”

Cicero was nodding along enthusiastically and Lucien really felt he should intervene at this point.

“You can’t just push innocent people to their deaths, Miraak,” Lucien protested.

“That man is not innocent, he is a snake with no honour,” Miraak said, shrugging. “I am not saying kill him, only that of all four of you, he is one I will not miss. Truly the pastoral oversight in this College is appalling, you know. It’s very clear no one is keeping an eye on what that elf is up to. Still, Cicero and I remonstrated with him and now he has the opportunity to redeem himself and in return I do not rat him out to Mirabelle. It is a bargain. He understands those.” 

True enough. And Miraak had a point about the pastoral care.

“Did you know someone _stole books_ from the library??”

Aranea glanced up, wrinkling her nose. Cicero was looking confused. And Miraak just looked blank.

“That’s unfortunate,” Miraak said and how, how, did he not see the problem here.

“You can’t just _steal books from libraries!_ ” Lucien protested. “It’s keeping knowledge from people! How is that not appalling, Miraak!”

“Some knowledge should be kept hidden, Lucien,” Cicero said, looking serious for once. “Some books are best destroyed.”

Lucien thought of the legendary Black Books and agreed that yes, all right, evil Daedric books were better off destroyed.

“But these weren’t, these were just books!” Lucien cried. “They were useful books! One of them might have had something useful on Saarthal! And now some necromancer’s got their hands on them! I’m going to get them back. I… I was hoping you’d come.”

Now that he thought about it, he really shouldn’t have assumed Miraak would just follow him regardless. Not without asking. But he needn’t have worried. Miraak sat up, appalled.

“Of course I am going, they will not just give you the books back if you ask nicely!” Miraak cried. “Where is this necromancer.”

“Fellglow Keep, it’s near Whiterun apparently,” Lucien said, getting the map out, and everyone pored over it.

“Whiterun. Where the other Dragonborn lives,” Miraak said, glancing at Cicero.

“Yes, but do not worry, she is unlikely to bother you,” Cicero said calmly. “Cicero will come with you! Cicero likes stabbing necromancers. Never any armour to cut through, just get into position, stay out of sight then stab them once the flesh spell wears off.”

“There’s another one with a lack in the honour department,” Miraak said dryly. “Well no matter. Your assistance will be most useful. If we set out this morning, do you think we can make Whiterun by tonight?”

“No but the Nightgate Inn is reachable, and we can make straight for the Keep from there,” Cicero said, tracing a finger over the map. “Cicero knows the way, Cicero’s been past it before.”

A plan came together, and Cicero started doing his own packing while Miraak and Lucien headed back to what was now their room. Sidling up to him, Lucien slipped his hand into Miraak’s.

“Miraak,” Lucien said quietly. “Did you really ask for twin beds for us? Not a double one?”

Miraak looked up, delighted.

“You have spoken to Mirabelle! Yes, yes I did! I thought you might find a double bed offputting. So we could have two singles instead. If you want. You do not have to. I just… I enjoy your company. I like having you around. I feel the lack when you are not there. I know intimacy frightens you, but would you object to us moving the beds next to each other so we can talk and hold each other?”

No. No he would not. Lucien stopped, turn Miraak to face him, reached up and kissed him.

He could definitely get used to this kissing lark. Especially the way Miraak responded, lips on his, breathless little moans, desire clear without being pushy. Lucien did this. Lucien could make Miraak feel like this. Lucien could turn a commanding Dragonborn into a helpless wreck if he wanted to.

He really shouldn’t want to. But as they broke off the kiss and he saw Miraak smiling at him, Lucien knew he couldn’t stop himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mages Quest underway! Also the apprentice quests are nicely coming in to line without Miraak or Lucien having to do them all, and also Miraak taking them under his wing is becoming a Theme.
> 
> Finally got the romance under way properly as well. Turns out Lucien feels a lot better about things when he realises he has control of the situation and really likes making his partner happy. I don't know how many explicit sex scenes I'm going to write with these two, could well be none. But do prepare for lots of intense kissing.


	9. Fellglow Keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien's still getting his head round the idea of actually being in a romantic relationship, and an unexpected double bed is enough to throw him completely. It's a surprise then when Miraak's protectiveness extends to going out of his way to make sure Lucien feels safe in bed as well as on the road. Meanwhile, Fellglow Keep proves as dangerous as expected, even for the likes of Miraak and Cicero, and when one of them has book-related trauma, the danger intensifies. However, it's not the main mission that causes the most trouble, as two chance encounters on the road prove pivotal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's so much in this one, the summary doesn't even begin to do it justice. Lucien writes home about his new boyfriend, and there's a good chance Lyra will be packing her bags when she gets this one. Also smut! Except typically, the actual smut is blink and you miss it, and they spend most of their time discussing consent and boundaries. Which is probably the best balance when one is a nervous ace-spec, thinking about it. Warnings for oral sex, and discussion of various aspects of cis-male sexuality, including one quoted homophobic slur. If you needed them.
> 
> Also it turns out that even though he can't remember Apocrypha, Miraak's still got PTSD from the whole thing, so warnings for book-induced panic attacks. Canon Mod Lucien will actually read from a selection of books for you, looks like Miraak will be availing himself of that particular feature.

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_All sorts has happened since my last letter! We got to have a look round Saarthal! The very first human city on Tamriel. Sad to see it in the state it is now. Also it had an Ancient Nordic war cemetery. That was interesting? All those graves all in one place… can you imagine what it must have been like being the ones to bury all that lot? Well. Maybe you can. I’m starting to realise what you two must have had to deal with after the war. Rebuilding everything must have been immense. I can’t even imagine._

_Saviik tells me to be glad I missed it, but all the same… anyway, we found something down there! Saviik and Tolfdir the Alteration professor and me! We’re not sure what it is, only that it’s magical and very powerful. It’s on its way back to the College for further investigation. It’s so exciting!_

_I was trying to do more research on it but the relevant books have been stolen – stolen, I ask you! - and I’m off to track them down. Vital scholarly knowledge, vital scholarly knowledge that the College needs, and someone just nicked it? It’s appalling, and I’m going to retrieve them. With Saviik obviously. The books are now in the hands of some dangerous rogue mages, I didn’t fancy going alone. Saviik’s a lot scarier than I am, and a lot more powerful than this lot._

_Thane Cicero of Falkreath is also coming! Turns out he sort of knew Saviik before on Solstheim. It’s… complicated. Apparently they weren’t exactly friends but they’ve since patched things up and now they’re getting on! They teamed up to make one of the mages here sort out a problem with a staff he’d traded to someone he shouldn’t have._

_Is it me or is the pastoral care and oversight in this place appalling. Mirabelle the Master Wizard does what she can but the Archmage doesn’t seem to do a thing. I swear the Arcane University in Cyrodiil was a lot more organised! But there’s not a lot we can do about any of it, other than find those books, so off we go._

_…_

_Also Saviik is my boyfriend now and we’re sharing a room. He got an extra bed moved in for me. Apparently he thought a double bed might scare me off. I don’t even know how he knew that but he did and it’s adorable and… and I really like him. He’s one of a kind. Special. Not just all the arcane knowledge and shoulders and being stupidly handsome and ridiculously talented and being able to speak Dovahzul and read several ancient dialects including Ayleidoon and Dwemeris, basically anything published from the late Merethic onwards...but he’s also really patient and understanding. I just love having him around and adventuring with him and… I know you probably don’t approve what with him being older and not knowing anything about him, but he means the world to me. It would mean a lot if you could understand. I promise to bring him to Cyrodiil if all goes well here, he says he’d like to see the place. I think you’d like him, he’s both a seasoned warrior and really very bright. He’s got things in common with you both._

_Love you!  
Lucien_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They had indeed made the Nightgate Inn by sunset, and typically, there were beds available. A single room for Cicero and… a double for Miraak and Lucien.

Lucien felt his throat dry up at the sight, standing still and staring at it… and Miraak couldn’t help but notice.

“Are you all right,” Miraak murmured. “We can swap rooms with Cicero if you want. You can have the single bed and I – I suppose I would have to share this bed with him.”

Miraak looked distinctly unenthusiastic about this, and Lucien didn’t blame him. Even if Cicero had reined in the flirtatiousness, that didn’t mean the feelings weren’t there and Lucien couldn’t… 

The thought of Miraak, his handsome Saviik, being intimate with anyone else made him feel sick to the stomach. That probably made Lucien a terrible partner, given he couldn’t bring himself to do it either. But it was how he felt and he couldn’t bear Miraak sleeping next to anyone else.

“No, it’s fine,” Lucien said softly. “You promise we don’t have to do anything. We can just sleep.”

“We can just sleep,” Miraak promised. “I will not touch you below the waist unless you ask me. We will go no further than holding each other and kissing. I promise.”

Lucien nodded and let himself relax, and the evening was spent pleasantly enough, and then it was time for bed. True to his word, Miraak looked the other way while Lucien got changed and into bed, and then Lucien hid his own eyes as Miraak extinguished candles and slid under the furs alongside him.

Miraak’s hand on his shoulder and Miraak’s breath on his neck as the bed creaked, and then a kiss on his cheek… then his neck, and Lucien gasped at the touch, eyes flicking open. Miraak’s lips left his skin, and then there was a brief kiss on his shoulder, on the soft wool of his pyjamas before Miraak withdrew.

“You are beautiful and I can barely take my eyes off you,” Miraak murmured.

“It’s dark,” Lucien whispered, pointing out the obvious. “You can’t see me!”

“I could see you on the way here,” Miraak said, amusement in his voice. “I’ve had many chances to watch you. I know what I see. You are beautiful.”

Lucien closed his eyes, still with his back to Miraak, breath heavy and ragged and the erection stirring in his loins, and he still didn’t know exactly how he felt about Miraak staring at him and wanting to have sex with him, but apparently it wasn’t bad?

Silence from Miraak, as if he was waiting for a reaction and when it didn’t come, Lucien could almost feel the disappointment.

“This is making you uncomfortable. Krosis. We should sleep.”

Lucien truly hadn’t meant that to feel like a rejection and he couldn’t help but cry ‘no!’ as he felt Miraak start to turn, turning himself to face Miraak, silhouette just about visible in the gloom.

Miraak paused then turned back, questioning little noise coming from him.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien gasped. “I didn’t mean to… I’m not used to people thinking I’m attractive and wanting to… to do things. And I still don’t know how to deal with it. But… but I love that it’s you because you’re brilliant. I mean, you’re so smart. And so impressive! And you _fixed the Winterhold bridge!_ Because I was scared of it. Using Ancient Nordic magic you’d seen once.”

“It was not new magic to me,” Miraak said quietly. “I think I had worked on it before. May have helped come up with it. I just saw a need and used tools I had to hand, that is all.”

“Don’t be so bloody modest, it doesn’t suit you,” Lucien snapped. “You’re really talented. And brave and strong and fearless and you’ve got this gorgeous smile and… I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

“Geh,” came the strangled response. “I mean… yes. Kom hier.”

Odd pronunciation, and Lucien wondered if that wasn’t actually Tamrielic but a different language. An ancestral language maybe. Had Miraak slipped into his native Atmoran without realising?

That was exciting. That was intriguing. That… was something Lucien wanted to know more about and so he moved forward, hands finding Miraak, sliding over his chest until they found his shoulders and then Lucien pushed him back, rolling him over, expecting resistance but finding none, finding only a gasp from Miraak as he fell back.

“Lucien,” Miraak breathed. “Gods, Lucien, yes, come to me!”

Shifting his hips to hide his arousal, Lucien crawled on top of Miraak, casting a magelight to see better, and Miraak winced in the light.

“Sorry,” Lucien whispered. “It is a bit bright, isn’t it?”

Miraak’s arms round him, pulling Lucien closer, face up against Lucien’s chest, making little whimpering noises that were most unlike him but were unbearably cute.

“Sorry,” Lucien whispered again, stroking his hair then kissing the top of his head. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

More needy breathless whimpering, and Lucien hadn’t even thought handsome, all-powerful Miraak Saviik could even sound like that. But apparently he could, and Lucien realised he liked it. 

“Get on top of me,” Miraak whispered. “I want to look at you. You can straddle my stomach if you like, you don’t have to touch me lower down.” 

Straddling Miraak, yes, good, this was good, Lucien was all about this… until he realised that if he did that, his erection would be obvious, and it would be very very embarrassing and…

“I can’t,” Lucien breathed, pushing Miraak away and rolling on to his back, pulling covers over him then realising this wasn’t enough and curling into a ball, back to Miraak.

Who’d made this heartrending little whimpering noise and reached out for him.

“Lucien? Lucien? Lucien, what’s wrong, please, did I do something wrong?”

Miraak’s hand on his side then wrapping round his stomach, chest against his back and nuzzling his face, desperation all over him.

“Lucien. Lucien, beloved, please talk to me.”

Lucien shut his eyes because the absolute last thing he wanted to do was talk about it, about any of this. But he couldn’t handle the neediness and sadness in his Saviik’s voice either, and he knew he had to tell him or risk losing him.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien whispered. “It’s not your fault. I got scared and panicked. You must be so fed up of me by now.”

“Niid,” came the response, Miraak seeming to calm down on hearing this. “You are still my Lucien. What scared you? Tell me, so that we can avoid it in future.”

This was going to be the most embarrassing conversation of Lucien’s life, he could already tell.

“Promise you won’t laugh,” Lucien whispered.

“I promise,” Miraak said, settling himself down and kissing Lucien’s cheek. “Tell me.”

“I keep getting hard whenever you touch me and it’s embarrassing,” Lucien said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know. I didn’t know how you’d react.”

There was silence, Miraak’s hand tightening on Lucien’s chest, and from the way Miraak was gently shaking, Lucien had the odd feeling that he was desperately trying not to laugh.

“You promised you wouldn’t laugh!” Lucien cried, wriggling around to glare at him.

Sure enough, Miraak was grinning under the magelight, biting his lip.

“I’m not,” he managed to get out. “I’m trying not to – by the gods, Lucien, why would I mind that??”

He was definitely finding this funny, and Lucien angrily shoved him away.

“It’s not funny, you utter cock, stop laughing!”

Miraak grin shifted into a sad-eyed pout, which really didn’t suit him.

“Krosis,” Miraak said, sounding uncharacteristically meek. “I’m sorry. Only may I ask… why would you think it would be a problem? Or that I’d be offended? You know I desire you! Seeing it reciprocated is a delight to me, not an offence.”

“Try telling that to my old schoolmates,” Lucien said bitterly. “One unfortunate erection during a handball game and I’m Gayboy Flavius for the next two years. I wasn’t even thinking about sex, it just happened. Completely humiliating. And you wonder why I’ve gone out of my way to not have them ever since. I am a past master at breathing exercises to make them go away.”

“Breathing exer-” Miraak stopped, looking very confused. “I was unaware that was the normal method for ending physical arousal. It is certainly not what _I_ have been doing.”

Lucien was unaware Miraak had been doing any such thing. 

“What were you doing??”

“Slipping away to the tavern and college bathrooms, running the shower or getting in a bath and using my hand to get myself off. Also I have some leather cloths for those times I cannot be bothered to get out of bed,” Miraak said, confused. “You have never done this?”

“No, the mess is enough hassle if it happens in my sleep, I had no intention of doing it deliberately!” Lucien whispered. “Why, is it different with a partner… you don’t remember, do you.”

Miraak shook his head.

“I was hoping to find out with you,” Miraak murmured, eyes closing then opening, hazy look that portended all sorts of things, all of which bothered Lucien.

It was bad enough his own cock had a mind of its own, he could not deal with Miraak’s as well.

His reaction must have shown on his face because Miraak had sighed, closed his eyes and carefully pulled away.

“Ah, go to sleep,” Miraak sighed. “You are not ready for this. I will not trouble you further.”

That sounded like a rejection. That sounded horribly like Miraak deciding Lucien was not ready for any kind of relationship, and honestly Lucien wasn’t entirely sure he was wrong. But Lucien could feel his heart breaking at the thought of Miraak not being there.

“I’m sorry,” Lucien whispered, reaching for him, and Miraak paused. 

“I know,” Miraak said quietly. “I’m not angry. It is how it is.”

“I still want to be with you,” Lucien gasped, because he’d gone this far. “I can’t take my eyes off you, you’re absolutely gorgeous and I love being in your arms, and kissing you is really nice! I just… I’m scared of… I’m scared of your cock. It’s probably terrifying and the thought of it ending up inside me terrifies me. Just the idea of touching it is frightening. Oh gods. I cannot believe I just said that.”

Definitely the most embarrassing conversation of his life, no question. Miraak not responding was making it worse, and then he turned round, very strange expression on his face.

“What about the other way round?”

Lucien honestly hadn’t ever thought about that. Not in the slightest. He’d honestly not expected someone as commanding and powerful as Miraak to ever be anything but the dominant party in anything.

“What. Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” Miraak said, watching him very intently. “I’d let you fuck me.”

Lucien shivered, the expletive hitting him hard and the erection that had been flagging returning.

“But…” Lucien tried to wrap his head round this. “What if I’m terrible at it? What if I hurt you? What if… gods, Miraak, what is actually in this for you?”

“Perhaps I’d enjoy it,” Miraak said, tilting his head. “Not tonight. It is too soon. I believe we’d need some form of lubrication as well. But yes. I’m willing.”

Lucien had no idea what to say to that. He hadn’t thought the person on the receiving end got anything out of it, and here was Miraak offering?

“Can I think about this,” Lucien whispered and Miraak nodded. 

“Take all the time you need,” he murmured, stroking his cheek. “I am not going anywhere.”

Miraak glanced down then back up at Lucien, still smiling.

“So, did you wish me to assist with your… problem?”

No, gods no.

Yes. Please yes.

Assist how, exactly? That at least was a question, and so Lucien asked it.

“I don’t know yet,” Miraak said, shifting closer, all heavy-lidded eyes and sultriness. “But I’d like to see you. Give you… attention. Touch you. Feel you. Taste you.”

Lucien was familiar with the concept of oral sex, of course he was. But no one had ever offered it to him before. And he was under no illusion that the person giving it got anything out of this whatsoever.

“Miraak, I can’t ask you for…”

Miraak’s finger touched his lips, Miraak shaking his head.

“No. You are not asking. I am offering. Freely. Because I want to.”

“Seriously,” Lucien whispered. “You actually want to… do that?”

“Yes,” Miraak breathed, gently rolling Lucien on to his back and unfastening the top button of his pyjamas. “Well? Can I?”

Lucien closed his eyes as another button opened and nodded. Yes. Yes, he did, he’d secretly wondered for _years_ but there’d been no one he’d felt comfortable asking. He’d even considered visiting the Temple of Dibella, but he’d kept losing his nerve.

Now here was Miraak trailing kisses down his stomach, reaching his groin, unlacing him and…

Inhale from Miraak and then someone else’s finger traced down his cock and Lucien _yelped._

“Was that all right?” Miraak asked, and Lucien lay back on the bed, shivering and nervous and… this was happening. This was really happening. An attractive, older man was right here, stroking him, giving him sexual attention. It was something he’d thought about but never had the nerve to ever go looking for and now it was happening and…

“Don’t stop,” Lucien gasped, voice deeper and rougher than usual, and Miraak actually shivered, before leaning down and planting a kiss on the underside.

“You’re smaller than me, I think,” Miraak said thoughtfully. “Shorter, anyway. But girth’s more important and you have that. Yes, beloved, I will give you what you need. I will give you the attention you have been starved of.”

Without waiting for a response, Miraak slipped Lucien into his mouth, taking in all of him, moaning around him and Lucien cried out, because it felt good, so good, Miraak was good at this, he’d done this before definitely. 

Lucien was not going to last, not with Miraak sucking on him like that, and he just had time to warn Miraak before he came, and Miraak didn’t move, mouth still on him throughout until Lucien fell back, gasping, and only then did Miraak sit up, swallowing before wiping his mouth and coming up to nestle next to Lucien, kissing his cheek then resting his head on his chest, carefully pulling covers over them both.

“Was that good for you too?” Miraak murmured to him, kissing his neck.

“You didn’t even come, did you?” Lucien managed to get out, feeling he’d definitely have noticed that, despite the current brain fog he had going on.

“Not yet but I did enjoy myself,” Miraak said, snuggling in, protective arm round Lucien. “I’m happy to go without, tonight at least. You’re not obliged to reciprocate either.”

Now Lucien felt bad about not immediately wanting to. 

“I’ll have to at some point, you can’t just keep doing that to me and expect nothing in return!” Lucien whispered. “You’re incredible, you know? I mean, that was… you’re really good at it.”

Miraak sat up and beamed at him, apparently loving the praise.

“I have definitely had lovers before,” Miraak said cheerfully. “It all felt familiar. And yet different, because none will have been you. I like the way you felt, sounded. I definitely wish to do that again. Only next time… next time push my head down. Entwine your fingers in my hair and _make_ me do it.”

“Why would I want to make you do it?” Lucien asked, confused. “I thought you liked it.”

“I do, but it is more arousing still if you take control of the situation,” Miraak said, head back on Lucien’s shoulder and snuggling in again. “Don’t worry about hurting me, I will tell you if it goes too far. But I am not fragile. Be rough with me. Pull my hair. Tell me off. Dig your nails in to my back and shoulders. Take charge and fuck me. You are small and delicate and in need of protection and gentleness. I am none of those things and can take a bit of ill-treatment. So give me a bit of ill-treatment.”

Lucien understood barely half of that, but maybe he could do it? If it was what Miraak wanted and it wasn’t required in return. 

“Will do. If you’re sure?”

The growl from Miraak was going to get Lucien hard again if they weren’t careful.

“ _Very._ ”

Miraak kissed his neck again and held Lucien tight and Lucien responded by stroking his hair and cuddling him. This? This was nice. This having someone in his arms was nice. The whole sex thing was… not as terrifying as he’d been led to believe. It didn’t have to hurt and he got to say no to things and Miraak didn’t seem to want to dominate him and make him do things. The reverse, in fact.

It occurred to Lucien that maybe some of the information he’d picked up over the years was completely wrong, or at least woefully incomplete. It might not be that bad. It could in fact be nice. It didn’t have to just be someone getting gratification at Lucien’s expense and Lucien being his helpless victim. It could be gratifying for them both, and Lucien wasn’t helpless. In fact right now, he was stroking Miraak’s hair while Miraak was making some happy little noises and snuggling, and Lucien realised that Miraak needed love and affection just like anyone else.

He’d have spent five thousand years with absolutely none of that. Even if he didn’t remember, and thank the Eight for that, it must have been absolute torture for him. No wonder he’d wanted escape at any price. It wasn’t an excuse, no, but it did explain so much.

Well. He had his new start now. And he had Lucien. And he’d been unfailingly sweet and caring and gone out of his way to make Lucien comfortable. He wasn’t a bad person, not at all. He just needed a bit of looking after and someone to talk to.

Lucien held Miraak in his arms and kissed his forehead. If emotional looking-after was what Miraak needed, that was what Lucien would provide.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

The morning after, and Lucien woke to Miraak with his arms around him, and on realising he was awake, snuggling turned to kissing turned to Miraak rolling on to his back and pulling Lucien half on top of him.

“Good morning,” Miraak said, beaming. “How is my beautiful Lucien today?”

The things he came out with sometimes.

“Don’t talk like you’re not better looking than me,” Lucien told him and Miraak pouted.

“You are attractive too,” Miraak told him. “You are! You bring out my protective instincts like nothing and no one else, I can think of nothing but tending to you and your wellbeing! I would not feel that way about one who did not delight me. And you do. Every time.”

Lucien could feel himself blushing, and decided to change the subject by kissing Miraak and that worked, that worked quite well, and that could have led to rather more if Cicero’s voice hadn’t been audible from the inn’s main room, cheerfully ordering breakfast then singing to himself.

That was enough to put them both off, not just because neither wanted Cicero as the soundtrack to their love life, but if they could hear him, he could probably hear them too. And so they got up, cleaned themselves, dressed and went to get breakfast.

Cicero greeted them cheerfully and asked if they’d had a good night, grinning knowingly as if he’d known exactly what they’d been up to and Lucien just nodded nervously.

“We slept well,” Miraak said, protective arm round Lucien and a tone that said this conversation was closed, and Lucien could kiss him for that. His Saviik was still looking after him. The scary, handsome, powerful, strong, fearless, ridiculously attractive and intelligent First Dragonborn was doting on him and protecting him. The mere thought made Lucien very happy indeed.

Cicero looked at them both, sighed wearily and offered to ride ahead on Shadowmere to give them privacy if they liked.

“Only do not disappear behind a tree with each other, we have a job to do,” Cicero added.

Lucien couldn’t even form a coherent response to that one, and thankfully Miraak tightened his grip and pointedly told Cicero they were quite capable of behaving.

On the road and Miraak positioned Lucien on his right, Miraak’s right hand in his left.

“You are right-handed, yes?” Miraak asked, and Lucien nodded.

“Yes, why?”

“I am not,” Miraak said, flexing his left hand. “This way we have our dominant hands free in case of trouble.”

Huh. Miraak was left-handed. Lucien hadn’t noticed that but in retrospect, it had been Miraak’s left hand reaching for him in bed. He’d never actually seen Miraak handwrite anything. Interesting. Lucien suddenly wanted to know all about how that worked.

“Don’t you use your right hand for your sword?”

“Yes, because it’s how I was trained. You’ll note I am first and foremost a battlemage, niid? My magic strikes first and it’s always stronger from my left.” 

Miraak paused and squeezed his hand.

“I used my right when Tolfdir had me cast spells at you,” Miraak added. “You would not have known at the time. I would have said nothing but it came up and… you should know I will go out of my way to protect you, you know?”

Lucien knew. It still bothered him even as it thrilled him. On the one hand, Miraak should not be going to all this trouble for him. On the other… it was fantastic having him there and Lucien loved just being around him. The First Dragonborn was here, doting on him and fussing and taking care of him, and Lucien was touched beyond all measure. Yes. Hanging on to this one. Most definitely.

The journey went smoothly at first, Cicero trotting on ahead, the road quiet and the weather fine for once, with just the occasional snowflake to entertain Lucien, still not used to snow.

And then Cicero called back for them to turn off road now.

“It is quicker across country. The road to Whiterun curves out of the way. I know a back way that takes you straight to the keep. Follow me!”

So across country it was and all went well until they passed near a Nordic ruin… and nearby was a group of Stormcloak soldiers, all sitting round a campfire and celebrating something. Lucien stopped in his tracks, going pale, because behind them in the snow was a dead Legionnaire and from the way the crows were swarming, there were more down in the ruins.

Miraak let go of Lucien’s hand and put an arm round him, protective hand on his chest. They’d not seen them yet, they could…

They’d seen Cicero, who’d reigned in Shadowmere as the lead Stormcloak, a big Nord in a bearskin, got to his feet and hailed him.

“Hah! Thane Cicero! Here to finally pledge your allegiance to the true High King? Join us! Have some mead!”

“I know that man,” Miraak murmured, hauling Lucien behind a tree. “He was at Ulfric’s court. He’s the bodyguard… and brother to the man who harassed you.”

Lucien shivered and moved closer to Miraak, suddenly worried.

“Ulfric’s not here, is he?” Lucien whispered. 

“I doubt it, there’d be more of them, and he would keep his housecarl at his side while travelling,” Miraak said softly, still watching Cicero, who was gesturing helplessly at Galmar Stone-Fist.

“Cicero is a Companion, Galmar,” Cicero sighed. “Cicero is bound not to interfere in politics. Galmar knows this, hmm?”

“Bound not to interfere?” Galmar snapped. “That’s not what I heard about your little Markarth trip. I heard you and your lady friend joined forces with the King in Rags out there.”

“We were arrested for things we did not do, and agreed to spare his worthless hide in exchange for joining his little jail break,” Cicero said tersely. “Neither of us have signed up with the Forsworn and Melinda has not been back since.”

“Who are the Forsworn?” Miraak whispered.

“They’re Reachfolk separatists,” Lucien whispered back. “They’re the terrorist group who are fighting to take control of the Reach for themselves. The King in Rags is their leader. I heard he’d escaped from prison recently. I didn’t know Cicero was involved.”

“Why does Cicero seem to be involved in all sorts of things he’s not telling us,” Miraak murmured, narrowing his eyes. “Melinda. His lady friend. He’s involved romantically with the other Dragonborn?? Did he mention that at all to you?”

“No,” Lucien whispered. “Just said it wasn’t our business. I suppose it’s not a lie?”

“It’s a lie of omission and I dislike it intensely,” Miraak growled. “Words will be had with him, trust me.”

Galmar didn’t seem pleased with Cicero’s response but didn’t seem to have expected anything else. He waved Cicero on, and all might have been well if a dragon hadn’t sailed overhead. 

Shadowmere bolted, Cicero backflipped off his horse and both narrowly avoided where the fire had hit. Cursing, Cicero unshouldered his bow and began firing off, aided by Stormcloak soldiers who were fanning out.

Miraak shoved Lucien behind a rock and cast mage armour, honour demanding he at least not stay hidden. Maybe he’d have to Bend Will his way out of here again, but he couldn’t just flee from a dragon on the loose.

Oddly, it seemed to be targeting Cicero more than the Stormcloaks, but Cicero seemed adept at avoiding damage while his arrows found their target.

So did Miraak’s magic, and it was doing more damage. The dragon crashed to the ground nearby, and Miraak’s thunderbolts finished it off… and then he took its soul.

Light, rushing sound, smell of burnt metal then jaws in his head reaching out to snap shut and the soul was taken.

Victory but a pyrrhic one, because the Stormcloaks couldn’t have failed to miss that.

“Dragonborn?” gasped one.

“No, that’s not the Dragonborn, he’s a man,” another said, confused. And Galmar turned, saw Miraak there, and reached for his axe.

“He’s a wanted man,” Galmar snapped. “You’re under arrest for crimes against Skyrim and her people!”

“Ulfric Stormcloak is a greater criminal than I,” Miraak said calmly, hands raised. “Stand down and let me go my way, and you will come to no harm.”

Galmar raised his axe and roared a challenge, his soldiers with him, and Miraak prepared to defend himself… and then he was dimly aware of Cicero behind them, crouched down, seeming to go red all over… and then a werebeast sprang into the fray, attacking from behind without making a sound, claws rending soldiers limb from limb, and Miraak should be horrified but at least it saved him a job. His own magic sliced into the fray and his Thu’um finished off Galmar personally.

The red werebeast was licking blood off its fur, and then it shifted back into Cicero, sitting in the snow in his stalhrim armour.

“Hello!” Cicero said cheerfully. “Cicero is sorry if you were caught unawares. Yes, Cicero is a werewolf. Yes, it was consensual. No, Cicero doesn’t need a cure. Yes, Cicero has his own mind in beast form. Cicero wouldn’t have employed it but you left him little choice.”

Miraak could not care less about the beast blood. He cared rather more about the other Dovahkiin’s partner sitting in front of him.

“You are the other Dragonborn’s lover. And you said not a word,” Miraak growled. 

“I said it was not your business, First Dovahkiin,” Cicero said softly, smile fading. “It still is not. But yes. It is true. Cicero is Melinda’s. You knew we knew each other. You knew I worked for her. I told you she did not want you dead, she just wanted answers. That is still true.”

“What happened with the Forsworn?” Miraak asked. “Lucien tells me they are terrorists. They prey on the innocent?”

“No, no longer,” Cicero said, getting to his feet. “King Madanach was being held at knifepoint, metaphorically, and forced to assassinate the enemies of the prison-owners who held him captive. Privately owned prisons, I ask you. If a Jarl cannot even be bothered to administer the criminal justice system himself, what is even the point of having one. But it does not matter now. Thonar Silver-Blood is dead, and the one they call the Reach-King is out. I cannot call him a man of peace. But he is not the monster they would have you believe either. But he is not here and we are nowhere near the Reach. Now, we have just killed the right-hand man of Ulfric Stormcloak. Cicero cannot smell any witnesses, but we should not linger. Also you should see to Lucien. Cicero does not think he is all right.”

Miraak turned to Lucien, alarmed. He was all right, physically at least. But he was looking very pale and frightened and went straight into Miraak’s arms.

“Miraak,” Lucien gasped. “Miraak, Cicero’s a werewolf! And… and helped the King in Rags escape! And… did you just kill a senior Stormcloak??”

“Don’t tell me off for that one, you called them, oh what was it? Religious fanatic ethno-nationalist terrorists,” Miraak said, recalling Lucien’s impassioned ranting on the subject. “Yes, I saw Cicero is a werewolf. He did not use it against us. You have known him longer than I and you never knew?”

Lucien shook his head. Apparently Cicero had been very discreet.

“This is why he didn’t want me travelling with him, isn’t it?” Lucien whispered.

“I imagine so,” Miraak said, rubbing Lucien’s back. “Lucien, when this is done, Cicero goes his own way, yes? We can return to Winterhold alone.”

Lucien nodded, squeezing Miraak then looking up to see Cicero having finished going through the bodies and holding up a strange helmet with pointy things on it, frowning at it. Then he carried it over to the dead dragon, holding it up to its mouth.

“Dragon teeth,” Cicero announced. “It is a pointy helmet with pointy dragon teeth on it! It looks very fancy. Do either of you recognise it? Cicero found an ebony dragon claw on Galmar as well, those are used to seal doors in Nordic ruins. Cicero wonders if they found this helmet in that one.”

An ancient Nordic artefact had a way of distracting Lucien at least. Miraak didn’t recognise the thing but did try it on.

“How do I look,” he purred. “Does it suit me?”

It would go better with that Nordic armour of his, but it wasn’t bad looking either. Still. It didn’t quite go, not to Lucien’s eyes.

“I’m not sure it suits you,” Lucien admitted. “I mean, it’s dragony and all but…”

Miraak took the thing off and passed it back to Cicero.

“It is not comfortable to wear,” Miraak informed him. “Keep it. Perhaps your Dovahkiin lady friend will like it.”

Cicero actually cooed and stuffed it in his pack along with the claw before getting to his feet.

“She could do with some new headwear!” Cicero cooed. “Cicero shall see if she likes it. Well, shall we move on and find this keep?”

Yes. They should. They should get as far away from Galmar’s cooling corpse as possible before anyone else turned up. And so they moved on and once well way from the corpses, Lucien scampered up to Cicero, abuzz with questions.

“So… you’re a werewolf! How? Why? Does it hurt?”

Cicero raised his eyebrows, blinking. 

“You are not frightened?”

Lucien shook his head.

“No! Well, it was a bit unnerving. But how often do I get to meet a real live werewolf? How long have you been one?”

Lucien was practically vibrating with excitement, and Cicero actually cooed.

“Lucien is curious! Lucien is not running screaming! Maybe Cicero should have taken you as a companion after all.”

Lucien brightened up at the praise, and it took all Miraak’s self-control not to immolate Cicero in fire. 

_My Lucien! Mine! How dare you look at him like that??_

_Drem, Miraak. Lucien’s allowed to find other people interesting._

Miraak knew. But all the same, Lucien’s intellectual curiosity was so close to his excitement about other things, it was hard to see him lavishing it on another. So Miraak kept his peace, listening to Cicero explaining he’d been a werewolf less than a year, but liked it very much, and had been turned by drinking the blood of another.

“So do not drink my blood,” Cicero said. “Unless you want to unleash the beast.”

“Right,” Lucien said nervously, glancing at Miraak, and Miraak immediately relaxed. Cicero made Lucien nervous and uncomfortable! Yes, pruzah, this was good. Miraak was Lucien’s Saviik, not Cicero. Miraak was who Lucien turned to for comfort and protection. Miraak need have no fear of Cicero as a rival.

Miraak grinned and caught up, arm round Lucien’s shoulders, and Lucien seemed to take comfort in that, regaining some confidence and asking more questions, and they learned that the changes were entirely voluntary, and other than those, there were few side-effects. Only that Cicero didn’t seem to get ill any more and he didn’t need to sleep.

“So that’s how you avoided sleeping on Solstheim,” Miraak realised. “I did wonder.”

Cicero purred and admitted this was so.

“So the other Dragonborn is a werewolf as well, is she?” Miraak asked, and Cicero’s smile faded as he bared his teeth.

“You will not be believed if you tell people,” Cicero snapped. “Leave her alone. She has agreed not to harm you.”

“Just interested,” Miraak murmured, filing the information away. So, his fellow Dragonborn was a werewolf. Well, she had to have some strengths. 

Fellglow Keep loomed up ahead as they walked up the slope, the castle in view. Cicero slipped into a crouch and went ahead to spy.

Silence, then a bowstring twanging and a gurgling cry, then another cry… and then fire flashing, Cicero shrieking, and Miraak decided to intervene.

Two dead mages, but the very alive Atronach hurling fireballs at Cicero was giving even him trouble. 

“IIZ SLEN NUS!”

Miraak watched as his Thu’um froze the Atronach, satisfied with that, and then he looked for Cicero who was picking himself up, squealing.

“Your voice does throb when you Shout, doesn’t it?” Cicero purred. “It’s very… distinctive.”

“So it is,” was all Miraak said, because Lucien’s hand had slipped into his and squeezed it and he could almost feel Lucien’s annoyed glare. Lucien truly didn’t need to worry but Miraak was secretly glad he cared enough to be bothered.

So it was through the entire Keep, Cicero slipping ahead almost silently with his bow, taking most out with a silent arrow and frankly saving Miraak a lot of trouble.

“He could have cleared this on his own!” Lucien whispered. “Look at him go! Do you think the beast blood did this to him?”

“No, no, Cicero could do this anyway,” Cicero said cheerfully, before beckoning for them to stop. “Wait. Rune up ahead.”

Lucien’s hand in Miraak’s, little whimper on his throat, and Miraak closed his eyes, trying not to think about what this was going to involve. He could probably make it. It would only hurt a bit. Pain was temporary, yes?

“Pass me some of those ruined books from back there,” Cicero whispered to Lucien, who went and fetched them, surprised. 

“What do you need these for-” Lucien began, and Cicero waved them back. 

“Stay back and stay quiet.”

One thrown book later and the rune exploded, and its caster came running, only to meet one of Cicero’s arrows.

A little cackle from Cicero and off he was again, leaving Miraak and Lucien in an awkward silence.

“So… throwing an object on to one of those detonates it,” Lucien said softly. “Did you…?”

“Clearly I have forgotten,” Miraak said, not meeting Lucien’s eyes. “Or the magic has changed. Yes. The magic changed. Don’t judge me. You did not know either.”

Lucien patted him on the back and kissed his cheek.

“I must confess my studies were always more focused on natural energies rather than Aetherial ones,” Lucien admitted. “Look, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone. You just wanted to show off how tough and brave you are, didn’t you?”

Bless Lucien. Miraak grinned, kissed his cheek and for a brief moment they locked eyes and held hands.

And then they heard fighting break out, and Cicero cursing, and it did sound like he needed help. Reluctantly letting Lucien go, Miraak cast mage armour and ran into the fight.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They found Orthorn shut up in one of the cells, and after releasing him, he had the nerve to offer his help.

“No. Get out,” Miraak growled.

“But won’t you need my hel-”

“ _No!_ ” Miraak snapped. “The way behind us is clear. Go that way and do not stop. If I lay eyes on you again, I may kill you myself.”

Orthorn took the hint and left, leaving Miraak quietly muttering curses about that thieving idiot elf and his entire bloodline.

“That was very merciful, I must say,” Cicero said, surprised. “You were angry and neither killed him nor enslaved him with Bend Will.”

“I agreed not to use it if possible, did I not?” Miraak snapped. “Anyway, I need no help from him. Let us deal with the others.”

Lucien was not so sure about the not needing help part, but he was fine with the not killing him aspect and said nothing. And so it went on, dangerous mages falling before Miraak’s Shock magic and Thu’um, and Cicero’s combination of sneaking ahead and sniping them, or striking so fast with his knives Lucien barely even saw him move and yet mages would collapse in a spray of blood.

No two ways about it. Thane Cicero? Terrifying. He could definitely have done this on his own, as could Miraak, come to that. Neither needed him along, not really, and Lucien definitely wouldn’t have managed on his own.

Up until they came into one room, home to a summoning circle and a few summoners (swiftly dispatched), and a book on a pedestal.

Miraak took one look at it, _whimpered,_ and reached for Lucien, visibly shaken.

“It’s just a book,” Lucien whispered. “Might be one of the ones we’re after!”

“I can’t!” Miraak gasped. “I _can’t!_ ”

Lucien had absolutely no idea what was going on here, but to see his fearless all-powerful Saviik acting like this was disquieting to say the least.

“Shall I read it for you,” Lucien asked and Miraak’s grip tightened.

“ _Niid!_ ” Miraak practically howled. “Don’t touch it!”

Lucien glanced at Cicero, wondering how he was reacting, and to his surprise, Cicero seemed to actually understand.

“It is not a Black Book, Miraak,” Cicero said softly. “It is just a book. Cicero will investigate, don’t worry.”

Unsurprisingly Miraak didn’t raise any objections to Cicero risking himself and so Cicero picked it up and flicked through it. And came to no harm whatsoever.

“Not a Black Book,” Cicero said cheerfully. “But it is about Oblivion! About a powerful Conjuration mage who went exploring Oblivion’s realms and… ended up in Apocrypha and went mad. Er… perhaps Cicero keeps this one.”

“Is that Doors of Oblivion,” Lucien breathed. “I’ve read that one! It’s written by the apprentice of the lost mage, they’d developed a telepathy bond and made use of that while the mage went exploring and he was fine in the other realms, even Molag Bal’s and Vaermina’s, but he ended up in Mora’s and… that was it. He never left. And you were there for how long?”

“I don’t know,” Miraak said softly. “From the time of my rebellion until the Dovahkiin ended my torment.”

“But that must have been from the Late Merethic – that’s over four thousand years!” Lucien breathed. “And you survived? Intact? Sane?”

“Apparently,” Miraak said, still clinging on to Lucien, face buried on Lucien’s shoulder. “I do not remember my time there, kogaan. I have no desire to go back.”

“If you find and read a Black Book of Hermaeus Mora, tentacles envelop you and take you there,” Cicero added cheerfully. “Melinda found a few! Do not fear. We destroyed them. Of course, there are others out there. Cicero recommends neither of you get involved with any you find. Mora cannot cross the Veil unless an artefact or worshipper of his is around to bring him through. But if he does and you are there…”

“I am _not_ going back!” Miraak snapped, finally looking up, still clinging to Lucien. “And I will die before letting him get his tentacles on Lucien.”

Lucien was not having that.

“Steady on there, old chap,” Lucien told him, rubbing his back. “I’m not getting involved with any Daedra any time soon.”

Miraak pulled Lucien close and kissed the top of his head, pressing his cheek to Lucien’s forehead.

“He shall _not_ take you from me,” Miraak breathed, and Lucien closed his eyes, because a big part of him was not comfortable with all the intensity and emotion at all, still less the terror underlying it.

All-powerful, all-conquering Saviik should not be that frightened, and frankly Lucien had no idea how to even begin to help. But apparently physical contact was helping, because he could feel Miraak’s panicked gasps slowing, breathing slowly coming into sync with Lucien’s own, and at length he kissed Lucien’s cheek again and stood up, shaking himself off.

“Krosis,” Miraak murmured. “You should not have to see me like this. I need to… we should press on, yes?”

Yes. Yes they should, and once Miraak had had a chance to carve a path through a few more summoners, he was almost back to his old self again. Almost. Lucien couldn’t miss the way he’d stop after every battle, come back to Lucien and touch his face, clearly both wanting to make sure Lucien was all right… and perhaps wanting something Lucien wasn’t sure how to give.

Lucien really didn’t like seeing him afraid. Particularly not when they found what looked like a library and study area, and after dealing with the mages there, Miraak walked on without looking at any of them, only stopping to take Lucien’s hand once it was well behind him.

“You really aren’t all right around books, are you,” Lucien said, Miraak’s hand in his and really not sure what to do about this, because College life and Lucien’s own preferences involved a lot of the things around.

“I can cope back at the College,” Miraak said, not meeting Lucien’s eyes. “Here… this is different. Because it is secret and private and forbidden and they’ve weakened the Veil here. It is reminding me of things that distressed me, things I regret, things I _don’t even remember._ ”

Miraak shook his head, eyes closed.

“I am sorry. You do not need to hear this. You desired my protection and here I am, succumbing to my own weaknesses. Krosis. I will do better. I will pull myself together.”

“Miraak, don’t, it’s all right to have weaknesses, and this place is creepy!” Lucien whispered, squeezing his hand and reaching to stroke his face. “I’m not surprised you’re bothered. _I’m_ bothered. And you had several millennia of book-related trauma to deal with as well. It’s all right. We’ll get through this.”

Miraak nodded, squeezing Lucien’s hand, glimmer of a smile appearing.

“You are not concerned at seeing me less than all-powerful. Not worried it might compromise my ability to protect you.”

Was that what this was about? Lucien hadn’t really thought about that part of it, not really. He’d mostly worried about Miraak.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If we’d come under attack, you’d have put your nervous breakdown aside completely to deal with the problem. You’re still quite capable of defending me or anyone else. It might even distract you. Look, I don’t think any less of you, you know. More if anything.”

Surprise on Miraak’s face as he motioned for Lucien to continue.

“It’s just… it makes you a bit more human,” Lucien said, trying to work out how to explain this. “If it’s you constantly fussing over me and being the big hero slaughtering everything in your path, I just end up feeling small and helpless by comparison and start wondering why you even bother with me. Whereas this… I don’t like seeing you upset, but having a chance to be the one to be helpful and useful for once is nice, you know? Makes it feel a bit less one-sided.”

Miraak pursed his lips, frowning.

“Your usefulness to me is not why I desire you,” Miraak said firmly.

“Perhaps I need to feel it,” Lucien said, hoping Miraak would understand, would get that Lucien needed… Lucien had been raised by parents who adored him and he’d never needed to work for their affection in his life. But they were his parents. It was different with the rest of the world. That wasn’t going to give him free affection for nothing in return, Lucien was painfully aware of that. And as for Miraak…

Lucien adored him but really didn’t like feeling like a child. He needed to be able to prove himself. He needed to feel he was paying the affection back, at least in part. He just hoped Miraak could understand that.

Miraak said nothing, stroking Lucien’s hair. Still frowning but he wasn’t arguing, which was something at least.

And then they were interrupted by a high-pitched scream and Cicero frantically forward-rolling and collapsing at Miraak’s feet.

“Hello!” Cicero gasped breathlessly. “Cicero accidentally bothered a Flame Atronach and now needs the help of a big strong man who can breathe ice.”

Orange light and a firebolt came flying after Cicero, nearly hitting Lucien and he only just got the ward up in time.

That had a way of galvanising Miraak, and while ice magic wasn’t his preferred style, that didn’t mean he was bad at it. One dead Atronach later, and it was time to move on.

“Are you all right,” Miraak asked Lucien quietly.

“Bit singed!” Lucien said, a bit too cheerfully. “But nothing serious! The ward worked!”

“Yes it did,” Miraak said, pride in his voice. “You have been taking my Restoration lessons to heart.”

“Perfectly valid school of magic!” Lucien said, taking Miraak’s hand in his, and Miraak smiled, heartrate returning to normal as it occurred to him that Lucien was becoming less and less helpless by the day. 

Miraak would still go to any lengths to protect him, of course. But it was also rather nice to see Lucien able to protect himself… and realise that Lucien could give comfort and reassurance to Miraak too.

Not that he needed any such thing, of course. Miraak had a will of iron and could force his way through any trifling emotional troubles. But all the same, it was nice to know that maybe he didn’t always have to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

They finally cornered the lead mage in her workroom, an elf referring to herself as the Caller, and Miraak flinched at the sight of a book on a pedestal before her.

“So you’re just one of Aren’s lackeys. That’s disappointing. You show real promise,” the Caller sniffed. “Now. I’ll give you one chance to turn around and go back the way you came. There will not be a second.” 

“Well, tough, we’re not going anywhere without those books!” Lucien snapped. “We’re not, are we, Saviik?”

Bless Lucien for standing his ground, although Miraak could regret being dragged in as protector. But no. He’d signed up for this, had he not?

“Then you won’t be leaving here at all!” the Caller snapped, raising her arms to summon, and Miraak shook his head. No. Not if he could help it.

“GOL HAH!”

The Caller’s arms fell to her sides, eyes going blank.

“Dismiss your summons,” Miraak ordered. The Caller raised her hands and the Atronachs that had materialised dissolved back to Oblivion.

“Lucien, collect the books. Then get out of here,” Miraak said, eyes not leaving the Caller. So Lucien ran and picked all three books up before turning to Miraak.

“What about you. Aren’t you coming?”

Miraak shook his head, turning to Lucien. 

“No. She is too dangerous to allow to live. But honour forbids me ordering her to kill herself, or me to kill her while she’s under this. Get to a safe distance before it wears off, and I can fight her without needing to worry about you.”

“But Miraak-!” Lucien began and then they both heard it. The sound of a knife slicing through flesh and blood spattering to the ground.

“Cicero’s honour allows it!” Cicero said cheerfully, arms folded and foot on top of the Caller’s bleeding remains. “Cicero thanks you, First Dragonborn! It is much easier stabbing them when they can’t fight back!”

“Oh my god,” Lucien whispered, appalled, and Miraak slipped an arm round Lucien’s shoulder, also appalled but pragmatic enough to realise it had saved them a fight at least.

“You have my thanks,” Miraak said, inclining his head. “You have saved us trouble and removed a dangerous mage from this world. Although you will forgive me if we don’t do it this way again in future?”

Cicero cackled. 

“Cicero is always happy to stab people with you, Dovahkiin!” Cicero cooed, fluttering his eyelashes even as he dropped to his knees to go through the Caller’s pockets. “Ooh, here’s the castle key, shall we see where this door goes?”

Any excuse to change the subject and Lucien shivered as he stepped away from the dead Caller. Not that she’d been a good person by any means, but Cicero’s willingness to stab in cold blood was disturbing. Far more so than Miraak using Bend Will on the Caller in the first place.

Lucien drew nearer to Miraak, suddenly wanting his closeness and protection more than ever. And Miraak noticed, smiling as he pulled Lucien closer and took his hand, leading him after Cicero.

“We part ways from him after this, yes?” Miraak murmured, and Lucien nodded. For all he’d been encouraging Saviik to make other connections, this one he’d be quite happy to cut.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Outside the keep, and it was late afternoon, a nice sunny day, all well for the trip on to Whiterun for the night… until the dragon swept overhead and landed on the tower opposite.

Miraak cast his armour, and Lucien began backing away towards the keep entrance… and then Cicero placed a hand on Miraak’s arm.

“No, don’t attack,” Cicero said softly. “Let Cicero do the talking.”

A hop and a skip and Cicero was grinning brightly at the red dragon.

“ODAHVIING!” Cicero squealed. “Hello dearest friend and most handsome of the Dov! How can Cicero help on this fine day?”

“ZIIZAHRO!” Odahviing roared. “Don’t try and fool me with fine words! What is he doing here? Maarleindah told me he died a traitor’s death like he deserved.”

“He did!” Cicero protested. “He died horribly, impaled by a tentacle! He was dead and we buried him! Only now he is alive. We are not sure how. We think Akatosh did it.”

Next to Miraak, Lucien sidled up to whisper in his ear.

“Miraak, that’s a dragon. Talking!”

“Of course they talk, they have a language,” Miraak whispered back. 

“But they don’t normally talk to people, do they?” Lucien whispered. “And how on Nirn does Cicero know him?”

Miraak had no idea but he supposed he was going to find out.

“Bormahu would not waste his Thu’um on one such as him!” Odahviing roared, and then he switched to Dovahzul. “ _You! Traitor! Step forward and talk!_ ”

Miraak stepped forward, Cicero scampering back, squeaking nervously.

“Odahviing, do not eat him, Melinda wishes him to live!” Cicero cried, and the dragon growled at him.

“Don’t presume to give me orders, Ziizahro,” Odahviing snarled. “He needs to pay for what he’s done.”

Miraak had no memory of his time as a Dragon Priest but he must have dealt with an angry Dovah before now. Stepping forward, he let his instincts carry him.

“ _Odahviing. Greetings,_ ” Miraak said calmly. “ _I already died once. What further punishment did you have in mind?_ ”

“ _Death is too good for you, traitor,_ ” Odahviing snarled. “ _But fair winds find you today. The Old One wishes speech with you. No, I don’t know why. With luck, maybe he will see reason afterwards and give you the brutal death you deserve. But for now, I will not harm you. Get on my back and I will take you to him, unpriest._ ”

“ _The Old One?_ ” Miraak asked. It seemed he should know that name.

“ _Paarthurnax,_ ” Odahviing snapped. “ _Yes, he lives. And he remembers you. Get on my back before I fly off with you in my jaws instead._ ”

Miraak had no idea who Paarthurnax was, but it was a Dovahzul name, no doubt. A dragon. An ancient dragon lived – two, in fact – and they wished speech, not death. Well, Paarthurnax did. Odahviing seemed like he’d be happy to drop him from a great height. But a dragon who was willing to talk in peace and who remembered him? Miraak couldn’t pass this up.

“Lucien,” Miraak said quietly, realising his beloved would have understood none of that. “Lucien, I need to go with Odahviing here. There’s a dragon who knew me before in my Sonaak days. He wants to talk. I have to follow this up, Lucien, I _have_ to.”

Lucien’s eyes widened and he did not look happy.

“This sounds like a trap,” Lucien said quietly. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, beloved, I am sure,” Miraak said, stroking his cheek. “The Dov are many things but they are not subtle. I think if Odahviing wished to kill me, he would either have attacked by now, or would act friendlier. As it is, he must know I will be wary.”

“I don’t like this,” Lucien said, shaking his head. “But if you’re sure… all right. Go on. I’ll wait for you in Whiterun. Only… please take care. You’re… I mean, you… you can’t die, I only just met you, we’ve been together for two whole days!”

Miraak opened his arms and pulled Lucien to him, closing his eyes and leaning in to kiss him, lips meeting Lucien’s, pouring everything he felt into the kiss, arms round Lucien, wanting him, wanting all of him, wanting Lucien to be _part_ of him. But that wasn’t an option and so he’d settle for making sure Lucien remembered him.

Finally he let Lucien go and stepped back, staring at his beautiful young lover, not wanting to leave him behind but knowing it wasn’t safe.

“I love you, my Lucien,” Miraak said softly. “Whatever happens, know this. Even if I die to dragon fire, know my last thoughts will be of you.”

“Saviik,” Lucien whispered, watching helplessly as Miraak walked away, raising a hand to Odahviing, who took off, circled and landed on the ground, waiting impatiently. “Saviik! Don’t you dare… don’t… oh gods, you can’t die on me, you can’t!”

“I will return or be in Sovngarde,” Miraak called back. “If I don’t return in a week… live well, my Lucien.”

“No,” Lucien breathed, lump in his throat as Miraak climbed on Odahviing’s back like he’d been riding dragons all his life, and Odahviing took off and flew away, heading for the Throat of the World nearby. “Saviik, no! Oh gods.”

Gentle hand on his arm, and Lucien turned to see Cicero looking at him, serious for once.

“Lucien is afraid. Cicero understands. But Paarthurnax is reasonable. Paarthurnax will hear him out. Paarthurnax will _probably_ not eat him. But we should go. We should speak with Melinda. Melinda will be able to help. Lucien should meet her!”

Melinda Storm-Heart. The other Dovahkiin. Miraak’s life in her hands, it seemed… and she’d already killed him once. But Lucien had little choice. Miraak was gone and Lucien could do nothing on his own. Heavy-hearted, Lucien followed Cicero away. He could only hope the First Dragonborn’s luck held out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's the civil war already royally buggered, well done lads. Madanach also confirmed alive, so guess what, Reachmen are looking possible. (Melinda would have been quite happy to kill him, but Cicero got himself arrested to find her, turned up at a key moment and was quite happy to deal with Grisvar, so she gave in and agreed to flee with the jailbreak instead.)
> 
> The italicised dialogue was Miraak and Odahviing talking to each other in Dovahzul. Didn't fancy doing all that translation.
> 
> Next chapter, Lucien meets Melinda and Miraak meets Paarthurnax... again.


End file.
